One Life
by TheNotoriousLIP
Summary: "The city burned. There were no columns of smoke, no raging fires, not even a trace of ash in the air; the city burned nonetheless. Gotham had become her stake and she stood—as she always knew she would—in the very center of the flame." Based loosely on the life of Jehanne d'Arc. Eventual John Blake/OC.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer - **I do not own Batman or Nolan's DKR universe. I don't own Gotham or any of the cannon characters. All that I own is my OC's and my plot.

**Rated 'T'** mostly for violence, intense fight scenes, adult situations (not talking about of the sexual nature here, but still some disturbing content), and brief language. I may bump it up to 'M' later.

**A/N: **This takes place during The Dark Knight Rises. Characters you will find here: Bane, John Blake, Barsad, Jim Gordon, Jonathan Crane, OC's and a few surprises. No, this is not your typical romance, there will be suspense, adventure, and character study. This is also based on the life of Jehanne d'Arc, you might know her as Joan of Arc. I have taken certain events that actually happened in her life and transformed them to work into a modern day Nolan Batman universe. Odd, right? But so much fun. I also haven't written in over a year. Yep. Hopefully this isn't too rough. I do have a lot in store for this story and I'm pretty excited. Taking a chance with this one. Anyhoo, thanks for reading, hope you enjoy _One Life_! I'll have the first chapter up soon!

Now, off to reward myself with pizza...

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_**One Life **_**by The NotoriousLIP**

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**Prologue**

"I was thirteen years old the first time God spoke to me."

It was funny, almost, how one phrase can change everything. It can label you a lunatic to the living world and send you tumbling head first off a cliff. She supposed that was why they had handcuffed her to an uncomfortable wooden chair and strapped her up to a ridiculously annoying heart rate monitor—they thought she was insane. But those words, to her, were the honest truth and there was nothing anyone could say or do to convince her otherwise.

She knew what she had heard.

"And what did God say?"

The man sitting across from her didn't bother to look up from his notepad as he scribbled down bits of information. His voice was seemingly disinterested though she knew that was a complete and total lie. It was impossible to hide what he was—an animalistic madman—underneath a degree, or a profession, or even a name.

He wasn't Jonathan Crane. He was the Scarecrow. Everyone knew it. And she was here, with him, at his request.

There had to be a reason.

And until she knew that reason, she figured that if he wanted to question her then he would hear what she had to say. She didn't care if her own words incriminated her further, she would speak the truth. Conviction was something that pumped through her blood too strongly to allow her to do anything less.

"He told me that He had something for me to do."

"Which is?" Crane prompted, still refusing to look up. Was he really that convinced that he was so much better than everyone else? Did he treat all of his patients this way? Maybe he was trying to intimidate her. Whatever the reason, she burned because of it.

"He said that one day I would help drive out an enemy from Gotham." The light from the lamp on the table glinted off of her handcuff and she stared down at it.

Crane's scribbling stopped abruptly. She watched the tendons pale in his hand, a hand that was smooth and almost delicate looking. With practiced precision, he set his pen down on the pad of paper and leaned back in his chair, his elbows lightly on the armrest. His eyes were hooded through his glasses and there was a small smile curving onto his lips.

"I'm curious, what made you wait to act until now?" His voice was intelligent and clear, every word enunciated. Everything about Jonathan Crane was done with a purpose, from his carefully manicured hair to his clothes that were painstakingly crisp. He built himself a beautiful cage in which he kept an ugly, ugly monster.

But a cage wasn't very useful when the monster knew where the key was.

"Gotham has had years of 'enemies'. Mobsters, rapists, clowns, brokers… Me," there was a sick sort of pride in his smile. "What makes Bane so special?"

_You mean why weren't you the 'chosen' enemy for me?_ The question was on the tip of her tongue, but from the predator she could see swimming behind the doctor's cool eyes, she thought that it might not be the best idea to provoke him.

Besides, she had been nothing but a kid when Scarecrow and the Joker were on the loose. To have done something then would have been a hysterical failure.

The power flickered off and on for a few seconds and she wondered if the fact that she was sitting here, chained and wired up, was just as hysterical now as it would have been then. She was _nineteen freaking years old_.

She felt like she was still a kid… Who was she fooling? She _was_ still a kid.

The beeping from the heart rate monitor increased slightly and the noise brought her back to the present. Crane's eyes were piercing and he was unnaturally still as he watched her. She wondered, not for the first time, if he could read her mind. Probably. That made it increasingly difficult to sit still under such… clinical scrutiny. She shifted again and chose a much simpler answer. "It wasn't the right time."

"Time. Well, there certainly isn't much of that left now, is there?"

It wasn't a question, but she answered him anyway. "No, there isn't."

"So you carried out a plan that would eradicate the city of its parasites," something awful and familiar began to leak through his voice then and she forced herself to breathe evenly. Scarecrow was itching to come out to play. "You brought judgment down upon Gotham's reckoning. How ironic. You do the very thing that you hate most about your enemy—but you justified it in the name of God."

"I don't justify anything I do," her voice was soft and she stared hard at the ground. "I simply heard God and found a way to accomplish what He asked of me."

"—and look at where it got you." The doctor's voice had dropped a few octaves and she felt a shiver run over her spine. Now was not the time for fear.

"I haven't judged them either. And I don't plan to."

Crane looked genuinely amused. "Too self-righteous?"

"No," she raised her gaze from the ground and gave Crane a very pointed look. "I just don't choose to sit in God's seat."

Silent, Crane stared back at her evenly, and he waited. He was waiting for her to snap, she could feel it. But it would take a lot more than a good stare to make her lose it. Instead, she felt something like stone settling inside of her. Strength. Her spine straightened and in one swift and piercing moment she felt a thick resonating presence hover over her. It slid over her like a glove and relief flooded her. She wasn't alone and she remembered vividly why she was here in the first place. "I don't pretend to know whether God hates this… '_liberation'_, or simply hates what they do. What I do know is that they will all be thrown out of Gotham, except for those that die here."

Crane tapped his fingers together momentarily and she could see the wheels turning in his head.

"Hmm… tell me," the doctor was back. For the moment. "What did you feel when you first heard the voice?"

"I was afraid."

Something in his eyes darkened at that, like when the tide would change, suddenly making the water you were just standing in much deeper and more treacherous than before. Something had just changed the tide.

Maybe honesty had been a mistake.

"Your motive of reckless obedience to your deity is… fear. How interesting," Scarecrow leaned forward, his back curling slowly and his gaze sharpening. The transformation from doctor to creature was so quick that it was downright terrifying. He truly was a madman.

The heart rate monitor began to go off and she desperately tried, and failed, to control her breathing. Now was not the time for fear. But she didn't know how not to be afraid.

"Can you describe the fear to me?" Scarecrow's voice caused her eyes to snap open. When had she closed them? Stay awake, stay awake, stay awake. "Or how about this: tell me, what do you feel now?"

In one ridiculous moment, the lyrics of a song she used to sing as a little girl floated through her head, fluttering around her mind like the wings of a sparrow and she latched onto them._ If I were a bird, if I were a foolish bird, I'd listen to my fear and fly away from here…_

"Nothing," she swallowed. "I feel nothing."

It was her first lie and there was silence between them. The machine in the room betrayed her, but they just stared at one another: girl and monster. Bird and Scarecrow. And for one horrible moment, she really did feel nothing—nothing but terror. Whatever presence had been there moments before was gone and she had never been more alone. She was going to die, most likely. She hoped she wouldn't die a coward.

"We'll see if that is true," he said softly.


	2. Little Sparrow

**Disclaimer** - I do not own Batman or Nolan's Batman universe or any of its canon characters. I do own this plot and my OC's. Which is cool. Not as cool as the Batpod though. Man... I _wish_ I owned that.

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_**One Life**_** by The NotoriousLIP**

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**Chapter One: Little Sparrow**

_Four months earlier…_

Jamie Delacroix was remarkably unremarkable.

She knew it and was grateful for it. It made life much easier since the coming of Bane. It gave her the ability to stand on the snowy sidewalk with a red beanie on her head and a black oversized coat engulfing her small frame and be completely unbothered by anyone and everyone. Of course that didn't mean that she walked around freely at night like an idiot, no woman was dumb enough to do that since the Blackgate prisoners had been released. And those that were, well, they learned quickly.

But even as unbothered as she normally was by the general population of Gotham, there was still the mob that was coming her way that she had to worry about. They hadn't seen her yet but that wouldn't last long.

There were eleven of them, armed and on the hunt, and Jamie wanted to run. They were coming right for her and she wanted nothing more than to get as far away from them as she could. But running was the stupidest thing she could have done and so she forced herself to stay still.

It was not an easy thing to do.

The instinct was pulsing through Jamie's body, every cell screaming at her to pick up her feet and _move_. But she didn't. Running never seemed to do anyone any good in Gotham anyway. It just drew attention to yourself and plastered a sign on your back that said 'Moving target'. And the mercenaries had been getting bored lately and had created a game that was frighteningly similar to something Jamie once played in an arcade. The game where you waited for a gopher to pop up out of one of five holes and when he did you took an oversized hammer and smashed his head as hard as you could.

Only, the mercenaries had guns instead of plushy hammers, and the gophers were Gotham's citizens. And the blood. There was a lot of that.

Her heart was climbing higher and higher into her throat and there was a small tremor in her legs as she started to back herself into a cramped alley. And then suddenly, like pressing play on a movie that had been paused for too long, the world exploded into noise.

At the echoing_ pop-pop-pop_ sound of a machine gun, Jamie instinctively fell to the ground and covered her head as she ducked behind some wooden crates. And then there was the terrible, terrible noise of a woman screaming down the road.

The sound was like a signal flare to the maniacs with the guns. There was raucous laughter and then the heavy pounding of feet on the pavement as they ran after their new target… which meant that they would run straight by Jamie. Panicking, she tried to make herself as small as possible. She kept her head down, her gaze glued to the ground and stayed absolutely still.

The woman screamed again, a shriek of terror and Jamie could hear in it the sick realization that they were coming for her.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," Jamie chanted quietly and clapped her hands over her ears pressing as hard as she possibly could. Her eyes squeezed shut and she was shaking even more. "_Please_ just stop." She couldn't listen to this anymore.

The screams were the worst. There were different types of screams in Gotham and each one meant something different. The scary part was that Jamie was starting to recognize what brought out what kind of terror in people. And this was the kind of screaming that Jamie couldn't take.

From what she could hear the men were in good spirits, a high most likely—from the blood. These weren't the mercenaries that Bane brought in; the cold and silent killers. No, these were the uncontrolled, the recent escapees from Blackgate who swore an oath to the masked man. They had a vendetta against Gotham, all of Gotham. And any bloodshed seemed to make them act a little crazier than the normal mercenary; like sharks in a feeding frenzy with the smell of a fresh kill in the water.

Jamie wasn't bleeding though. But she also wasn't moving or breathing. She waited; every muscle tensed as the men drew closer and closer and finally passed her by without even a glance down the alley she was holed up in.

The relief that flooded her was palpable and Jamie let out a small involuntary cry and fell back, hitting the ground hard. She immediately pressed her back against the icy wall and bit down on her knuckle to stop herself from making any more noise. They were gone. They were gone… but they could come back at any second. When they got bored with the woman, the woman who was screaming louder now—the crazed kind of shrieks that people weren't aware they could make until they jumped out of their throats.

Jamie sat there, raggedly trying to breathe and had no idea what she should do. She knew what the right choice would be, but these days the right choice was quickly becoming the wrong choice. Choices like that were getting people killed.

It could have been her.

Abruptly a flash of white hot hate struck hard and fast in her veins. She hated this. She hated this _so much_. She hated that life had boiled down to embracing apathy. To keeping your head down and allowing people—innocent people, your neighbors even, to be hurt and killed and raped and so many horrible things just to keep yourself safe. It was sick and it was what Bane had turned Gotham into.

This wasn't a liberation or revolution. This was a prison in the guise of freedom. A perfect trap. Everyone gets to do what they want, get whatever they want, but they lose something invaluable in the gain. They lose themselves.

There was a low beeping noise and Jamie was brought back to the world as she pulled back her sleeve and glanced down to her watch. She had fifteen minutes. Funny, how she forgot about things like plans and appointments now days. That never would have happened before the bomb. But the bomb put things into perspective.

However much perspective one can get when looking through a glass that was filled with mud and blood.

The watch beeped impatiently once more and Jamie sucked in a deep shuddering breath. She had to go, or else everything, absolutely everything would be useless. She had to get up and she had to get up _now_.

She did and it was easier than it should have been.

She brushed off the bottom of her jeans and groaned realizing that the slush from the ground had soaked through her pants. A painful numbness came and it made her movements a little stiff. She bent down and tugged on her boots, pulling them higher on her calves. She didn't think about the fact that it was easier to get up and brush herself off because the woman's screams had died down. She didn't even want to think about what had most likely happened to make the screams stop. No, Jamie had somewhere to be, something to do. Today was the day; she had woken up knowing that.

If this didn't work, well, she didn't quite know what she would do next. But she put her faith in the fact that something good was going to happen today—it had to. She was due for something good. _Gotham_ was due for something good.

She could feel it in her bones.

* * *

She had given herself eight minutes.

Eight minutes to make sure the street was clear and to clear her head. Her steps were light and quick as she cut corners and continually glanced over her shoulder. Normally she would try to be more discreet, keep her head down and pace even, but the screams had unsettled her.

Jamie quietly hoped that she would always be unsettled by the screams. _That_ wasn't something she ever wanted to get used to.

A part of her wanted to be upset, to be angry for the rest of her life because of them. But she wanted to do something more than be angry. That was why she was standing in front of the boys home, in the freezing cold, waiting to meet a man she had never met.

She didn't know as much as she would like about him but for being one of the only cops currently not trapped underground, Jamie thought that John Blake was pretty gutsy to be out on the streets so much. Maybe that was just a cop thing.

The fact that he visited St. Swithuns so regularly was something that she respected about him. A lot of people had forgotten about the orphanages over the last month. John Blake hadn't. He brought the boys at St. Swithuns food and made sure that they had heat and that their security was as strong as it could possibly get. He was a good guy, Jamie supposed. His actions said a lot more about him than most other citizens of Gotham at the moment.

But then again, maybe there were others, like her, waiting on the wings for their chance to fight back. In fact, as soon as the thought entered her mind she was sure that there were. There had to be. She wasn't alone.

She just hoped they had a better plan than she did at the moment. Jamie had no clue what she was doing, as usual. She was going into this blind and all she could do was hope that things would work out like they were supposed to. Sometimes they did and sometimes she screwed it up—but she was learning. She was learning that even when they got screwed up there was always another way. She was learning that sometimes it was more about setting things into motion than seeing the direct result you hoped for.

Sometimes what you hoped for isn't what you were meant to see.

Her watch sounded its five minute warning and Jamie switched off the alarm and stuffed her hand quickly back into her coat pocket. There were four more hours of daylight, five more minutes before John Blake would come walking around the corner. The nineteen year old fingered the square piece of paper she had tucked safely away and rocked onto the tip of her toes and then back on her heels as she waited. Nerves were trying to set in and she needed to stay calm.

Her mind automatically went through her list of things she was thankful for. She thought about her mother and her sister and the hole she found in her sock this morning and smiled because she _had_ socks to wear. Perspective, Jamie smiled some more and wiggled her big toe feeling the hole. She felt lighter already.

There were figures, shadows really, moving in the windows of the building in front of her and Jamie watched them for a moment. She couldn't make out any real details on their appearance, but she caught the softest trail of laughter. It caught her short, and she realized that she hadn't heard a child's laugh in a long time. Too long. Who would have guessed that she would have to come to an orphanage during the occupation of a terrorist to hear such a sound?

Jamie added it to her slowly growing list. She wondered if that was why the man she was about to meet came here so often as well. To hear a laugh. These days a laugh, even hushed, was power. Jamie could feel it.

She found herself smiling as John Blake came around the corner just as expected. He was handsome, with a lean build and dark cropped hair. But Jamie thought he still looked like a cop, even if he was in hiding. It was something in the way he held his body, the way he walked. It was a cover and people could see it if they looked closely enough. He might play relaxed, but he was strung tight, tense and ready to act.

She didn't blame him. His kind were being hunted down like dogs these days.

And now he was looking at her. His eyes stopped momentarily over her figure on the opposite side of the road from St. Swithuns as they swept his surroundings before they quickly moved on. Obviously he deemed her a non-threat. Jamie couldn't help but laugh a little to herself. She didn't mind being overlooked; it made life more fun to surprise people.

Speaking of which…

Jamie crossed her fingers and took a deep, deep breath, "And here we… _go_."

Glancing one way and then the other, she ran quickly across the road and almost slipped on some ice on the way. Catching her balance deftly, and so thankful that she hadn't fallen on her butt, she nodded to the man in front of her. He had stopped walking the moment she had moved and she could see his suspicion plain as day.

"Hey!" Her breath came out in white puffs. "John Blake, right?"

He took a step back, brows furrowed, as he carefully examined her. "Do I know you?"

"No, but something told me I would run into you today," Jamie smiled and when his face never changed, her smile dropped a little. Deciding to be blunt about it, she dove right in. "Plus, I've seen you—on the streets. You're a cop, right? One of the last ones left. I think I might be able to help. You work with Commissioner Gordon and I have informa—"

She didn't even have time to scream before her back was slammed into a brick wall; and when she finally did try and scream the sound was muffled by his hand. Pain was shooting through the back of her head and Jamie felt it travel all the way down to her fingertips in little electrical sparks. She felt the ice cold tip of a gun just under her chin and she stared at the man in front of her, vision blurry, but eyes wide with shock and fear. John Blake didn't seem to care though. He kept his hand over her mouth and the gun where it was as he spoke in a low and deadly voice. "I'm gonna let go and you're gonna have _five_ seconds to tell me who the hell you are."

Jamie nodded slowly, feeling the yarn of her beanie get caught on a brick behind her as she did so. Blake carefully removed his hand but didn't move the gun away. He stared at her hard and waiting, invading her space and all of it made it difficult to think. Naturally she slowly raised her hands in a show of surrender.

"I'm a friend. A friend of Commissioner Gordon," Jamie thought for a second. "Or I could be a friend of the Commissioner."

"That still doesn't tell me who you are. And what do you know about Gordon or me for that matter?"

"Okay, off to a bad start. Sorry, but its really hard for me to think with a gun on me." Blake didn't move and Jamie sucked in a deep shuddering breath. "My name is Jamie Delacroix and I have lived in Gotham all my life," her voice was calm and slow, like she was speaking to a cornered animal. Which was a little ironic, she thought. "I know that you have been working with the Commissioner since Bane took over. I know that there are thousands of police trapped right under our feet and there are food drops to them regularly on the south side of Ackerman Park, just under the mercenaries' noses."

Maybe more information wasn't such a good idea because Blake's expression became like iron and she felt the barrel press deeper into her skin.

"Is this some kind of sick joke? Are you working for Bane or something?"

Jamie laughed out loud before she could stop herself. But she quickly recovered, horrified as she put a gloved hand over her own mouth. "Sorry, not funny. But do I honestly look like a mercenary?"

The detective just stared and she gave him her best winning smile. She knew that she didn't measure up to much, if anything she measured up to having the body of a young teen boy. There was a beat of silence and whatever he saw caused him to slowly lower his gun. He didn't put his guard down, didn't smile or attempt to soften the anger clear on his face, didn't even put his gun away, but he did step back and that was a relief in itself.

"Explain how you know all of this."

"I can't explain all of it right now, but I just do. Plus, it's amazing what you can find out if you simply watch things… For instance, I know that you and the Commissioner are planning something," Jamie paused here and made sure that she looked the man directly in his eyes. "I want in on it."

There was a scoff, as if he finally understood what this was all about. The officer tucked his gun away and looked at her no longer like he thought she could be a spy, but rather like she had grown three heads and he had to figure out why one of them was purple and it was annoying the heck out of him. Perfect.

Shaking his head like he couldn't believe he was actually hearing this, Blake turned away from her. "I don't have time for this."

"Time for what?"

"This—_you!_" He whipped around motioning towards her. It was the first time he raised his voice at her and it made Jamie flinch. He noticed. "I don't have time for crazy kids with hero-complexes and death wishes. You're going to get yourself or others killed and I have actual things to do."

"Oh, and what, you think the only people who can save Gotham are cops? You have got to be kidding me," Jamie was following after him, her voice rising too and Blake ignored her and continued walking. She got desperate. "What about the Batman?"

That stopped him.

"What about him?"

Jamie rocked onto her toes, feeling something bright and hot course through her blood. "That's why he wore the mask in the first place. So that he could be any of us. He took the fall for someone eight years ago so that the people of Gotham would rise. But we haven't had the chance—until now. He did what he did so that a hero could be anyone. Even you, John Blake. It's the _people_. The people of Gotham have to fix this because we're the ones who helped Bane screw this entire place up. We collapsed in on ourselves and now this thing has to get fixed from the inside out, not from help out there—on the mainland. That help is not coming and time is ticking and I have to do something," she stopped and breathed for a second to stop herself from becoming hysterical. "_I am not_ going to die without doing something."

Blake still clearly didn't trust her, but he was listening. She could see it in his eyes. They were intense, like before, but listening. And now that she had finally started saying what she meant to all along, she couldn't stop.

"A month ago I watched a six year old boy die right in front of me. He was killed by a ricochet bullet from a trigger-happy mercenary. He bled out on the street and no one even bothered to stop and help. They were all too busy trying to save themselves, or too scared to take the chance. I was scared, too and I ran and I will be ashamed of running for the rest of my life. And this has just been one month, _one stupid month_. I sat in an alley on my way here—to meet you—and listened to a woman scream for help because she was about to get raped and who knows what else. I couldn't do anything at all but sit and listen to her scream because if I tried, it would have meant I would die too." Jamie was baring her teeth by the end, anger pumping through her blood. "That's one of the reasons I'm here. I can't just sit back and do nothing while my city rots."

Blake looked down to the ground and gave a defeated sigh. When he spoke, he at least had the decency to sound a little shamed. "Listen kid, I know where you're coming from, I really do, but—"

"—but your answer is still no."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, the liability is too much. We have too much at stake here."

Jamie nodded and pursed her lips. "I get it. It was a long shot, but I had to try something," and maybe, since she couldn't convince him with her words, it was time to set things into motion. He was a cop after all, he needed evidence. Jamie dug in her jean pocket, pulling out a piece of paper that had been folded too many times and handed it to Blake. "Here, take this. You could probably use it more than me."

He looked down at the paper. "What is it?"

"A map," Jamie took it from him and began unfolding it revealing a neatly drawn outline of streets, buildings, and landmarks. There was a column to the right that had dates, times, and street names. Blake looked at it closely and she hoped he wouldn't pay too much attention to her horrific attempt at drawing a truck. Maps, she could do. Vehicles, not so much. Her gloved finger pointed to Fifth Street. "It's a map of the route the trucks carrying the bomb take. There are three trucks and I think they transfer the bomb to a different one every day. See the three different colors? Red for Truck Number One, Blue for Truck Number Two, Green for Truck Number Three. The routes they take don't really change. The trucks are identical, but it's the same three drivers—so that might help in figuring out which one has the bomb. The trucks also have lead lined roofs which is probably why none of our surveillance friends flying around up there can get a lead on which one might be carrying it. And of course there is a tank guarding each."

She finished and he continued to look at the map, studying the places and hopefully not the truck drawings. She waited a few seconds longer before he finally pulled himself away to give her what was becoming a very familiar look.

"You're insane, you know that?"

"Maybe," Jamie shrugged. "Maybe not. Just take a look at the map. It has times and dates of which trucks are where and when. Check it out yourself if you don't trust me. But the information is right. Consider it a gift."

She started backing away, walking backwards with her hands in her coat pockets. Jamie knew better than to stalk the poor man until he led her to Gordon, no matter how tempting that was. And maybe giving him some time to think would be good, because right now he just stared obviously not sure what to say. She smiled at him, big and true. Maybe a little too big, though. But he grinned for the first time and shook his head at her.

"If you change your mind about letting me help, I'll be here three days from now and every three days after that. Same time."

* * *

This was her favorite time of day, when the sun would set.

It wasn't so much the colors in the sky as it was the light streaming through the tall skyscrapers. Sometimes it seemed that the last rays of light from the day were the strongest. They were beauty and they pierced through the city not caring how imposing and dark the shadows were. The beauty was going to show itself. It made Jamie smile to see that the light hadn't changed since the arrival of the bomb. It still pierced through everything—even her—almost like it was reminding the dark that it stood no chance. If the light chose to shine, the darkness would not prevail.

But then the sun would always eventually set, too, and night would rule for a time. The buildings would change as the light went out and if Jamie looked straight up she could almost see a giant mouth over her head; the night sky like an abyss and the skyscrapers like long jagged teeth. She wondered if one day the mouth would shut and swallow them all whole.

She wondered if that day were coming soon.

It wasn't the bomb she thought about exactly. To Jamie, Gotham itself had become the bomb. The city was deteriorating and it was only a matter of time before it exploded. She didn't know what or who the trigger would be, but she could feel that it was coming soon.

With her hands stuffed in her pockets to keep them warm, Jamie turned down the last street heading towards her home. Her steps felt weighed down and heavy. As she walked through Gotham, the city that held all of the memories of her life, there was a sorrow that stuck itself right in the center of her stomach and _ached_. It ached with grief and pain and desperation all at once. And there was shame, too. Shame that felt more like a grave and every day she was being buried a little deeper. Every time she walked by someone getting mugged, every time she stayed where she was as someone screamed for help, the dirt piled a little higher.

She was going to be held accountable one day and she didn't know how she would answer not for the things that she had done—but for what she hadn't done.

_Well_, Jamie quietly told herself, _you're doing something now_. And she was. She just hoped it wasn't too late.

Something told her though that this was the right time and she was doing the right thing. Even if today didn't go exactly as she had hoped, she acted, she moved, she wasn't a victim for one single breathless moment. That moment lit a hope, just a small spark, inside Jamie that had been beaten down lately.

It was Bane who had made this more than just a war for the city; he made this a war for the soul of Gotham. And so this battle wasn't just against Bane, it was against Gotham itself. Jamie would see to it that people understood that. And she would start with John Blake.

* * *

The bomb was going to kill them all and Adenrele didn't know what to think of that.

Even though as a young girl, she knew what she was getting into when she joined Bane. He spoke plainly about what he required of those who served in the revolution and what would happen if they showed any sign of disloyalty. Bane also knew what he was getting into when he brought her in, because when he first met her she had been sixteen years old and covered in blood. A knife had been in her right hand and there was no trace of fear on her face.

There should have been.

Maybe that was why he took her in? He saw what should have been but was never going to be. She should have been afraid, paralyzed by fear. But she was hard instead; unrelenting steel, not just unbendable but unbreakable. These days though, Adenrele felt old and worn. Like a good leather shoe that lost all of its comfort and now just brought an aching. And the older she became the more she realized that there were many things she ached for and death was not one of them.

She had been running from death her whole life. She did not want to embrace it now.

Barsad had been the one to find her in West Africa, all raw and nerves and ready to kill anyone who tried to touch her—including him. He eventually brought her to Bane and she almost wished they would have left her in Africa. Almost. But if they hadn't taken her in she would have been stoned most likely. Or cut into pieces. She honestly isn't sure which one. Maybe both. After all, most child brides in Sierra Leone didn't get away with murdering their would-be husbands on their wedding night.

But she had. She had dug a curved knife right into his chest five times in a cold rage and she got away with it.

Because of Bane. And for that, she owed him her life... but maybe not her death.

"Adenrele," the voice was quiet and she didn't need to turn around to know who it was. She had known him since the start of her new life and she always knew he was there before he called her name. But she turned around anyway, to be kind. Her dark, dark eyes met his and Barsad continued. "It's time."

She nodded. She had been ready twenty minutes early—as usual. Standing up and slinging a gun around her back, she glanced quickly at the man in front of her. "You're tired."

Barsad's face never changed. "The doctor was being disruptive at the Courthouse. And someone is supplying the police with food. They're still alive in the tunnels, Isaac could hear them today. They should not have lived this long."

"I shouldn't have either."

The words were out before she knew it. Adenrele allowed herself one moment of regret for dwelling on the past before she busied herself with making sure that her boots were laced tight and that the knife she kept by her right ankle was in a stable place. All was well, but she checked twice anyway. Barsad was silent. She didn't want to ask him if he remembered what it was like the night that he found her. That was in the past and would stay buried there.

Adenrele shrugged on her military style jacket and re-secured her gun. Barsad watched her the entire time. She was used to him and his quiet observance of life. It didn't bother her much; his stare was easier to handle than Bane's.

She started moving towards the door when Barsad stopped her. "Don't take the patrol south of Shoreline Boulevard. You are on the north now with Thiago."

She wanted to ask why she shouldn't take the south patrol when that was what she had been scheduled for, but if Barsad was giving the order, it was to be obeyed without question. He wasn't Bane's lieutenant for nothing.

Nodding in acceptance, she moved past him and quickly made her way down the curving staircase of City Hall to the base level. Thiago was waiting for her, and he offered her a genuine smile tilting his head towards the empty street waiting for them. She followed his lead and glanced back over her shoulder to see what she knew was already there. Barsad's gaze was constant. She wondered briefly what he would do one day if she decided to wave at him. His reaction alone might be worth giving it a try.

Her full lips curved up just enough to be a miniscule smile and she turned and left. She didn't want to try Thiago's patience. He was a good man, a crazy Brazilian who on occasion let his mouth get away with him, but a good man nonetheless. Adenrele had shot him once—just in the foot, but that was only because she was really angry and he deserved it. From then on they seemed to have a mutual understanding.

Their boots crunched in the snow and she took a deep breath allowing the cold air to brutally fill her lungs. Eying the street to her right, she took note of the massive figure standing off to the side of City Hall, his hands on the collar of his jacket and his gaze transfixed on the night sky. He did that sometimes. Adenrele wondered what it was he saw. There were no stars, only blackness; the city was too dense for there to be much beauty up there. She preferred the coastal skies of her home, with the breeze from the ocean dancing at her fingertips and the billion star hotel directly above her.

This city was not Africa. But Bane seemed mesmerized by something she did not see, maybe something none of them saw. Only him. Or maybe he was searching.

For a reason that she couldn't explain, it made her sad.

She hoped he would find what it was he searched for up there. She might have held some resentment against him over the last few months because of her own survival instincts, but while many people did not see beyond the mask, Adenrele knew from the time she was sixteen years old that there was a certain kindness to Bane. Not the kind that is written about in books or easily found, but the sort of kindness you search for and discover after years of knowing a person. Maybe half of it is conjured in the mind because you simply want it to be there, but Adenrele saw it still.

And she wished now, more than ever, that he would find what he searched for. Maybe then he would stop this madness and she could live out her days. Or at least live until a bullet in a proper fight took her.

Turning away from him and her thoughts, she began to walk.

"Why are you going on the north route when you were first instructed to take the south?"

There was no mistaking the lilting curiosity in that voice or who it belonged to. Both mercenaries stopped immediately and looked to Bane in question. His gaze slowly drew away from the night sky to the pair and the mask rasped as he spoke again. "Take the south patrol."

There was a beat of silence before Thiago came to his senses and answered for both of them, "Yes, sir."

The mask rasped again and then there was nothing. Nothing but what Adenrele felt slowly crawl up her back and neck, tingly and reminding her all too much of the legs of a spider. Something was wrong. She didn't know what, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. But if he wanted them to go south, then south it was. She trusted him.

Bane's heavy gaze stayed on them until they were out of sight.

* * *

**AN:** Lol, of course I would choose to start a new story on the day that FF decided to lose its mind. Oh well. Anyhoo, whoop, there you go. Things will get going very soon, promise! And remember some of this is based off of the life of Jehanne d'Arc, and if you don't know much about her life, read up on her. She is really quite amazing and very much almost sounded like a crazy person to a lot of people. She was sixteen when she took command of the French army.

And Adenrele? Yeah, I had no plan to write her whatsoever. But she showed up and I like her, I think she might be a keeper.

Thanks for the reviews and thank you for reading peeps, and I hope you enjoyed chapter one!

- LIP


	3. Desperate Measures

**Disclaimer** - I do not own Batman or any of the canon characters from Nolan's Batman universe. I own my OC's, this plot, but I really wish I owned a cape. I don't care what Edna Mode says about them, I want a cape.

**EDITED 9/25**: I looked at this first draft I posted and was uber not happy with one particular and _very_ important scene. I also cut a scene that I will use later and tightened up the others and added/changed a good amount of details. Oh the joys of getting back into writing and hastily posting things… BUT HEY! I took my time now and at least I get to drink a ton of coffee, **_RIGHT?!_**

* * *

**_One Life_**** by TheNotoriousLIP**

* * *

**Chapter Two: Desperate Measures**

Two hours into their patrol, Adenrele realized that something was very wrong.

Shouldering her gun, she heard Thiago do the same about ten feet behind her. There wasn't anything in particular that put them on edge, no suspicious noises or shadows, just instinct. They cleared alleys and corners for two blocks but saw nothing. That didn't make her feel any better.

It was part of the reason why she hated the night patrols. She couldn't see anything in the distance; she didn't know what danger was ahead. She might be able to make out shadows and the basic shapes of people, but not the expression on their face or the clear intent in their body language. This was the hour of deceit.

Adenrele walked on the balls of her feet. Toe first, then heel, every move careful and controlled. It was something her father had taught her when they had gone hunting together and it was only natural to fall into now. Suddenly, she paused and Thiago slowly came up beside her. They both were still, gun at the ready and eyes straining to see in the darkness.

"What is it?" Her partner breathed and Adenrele put a finger to her lips and nodded to the alley just ahead of them.

It was more of a crevice than an actual alley, just enough space for one body. They crept forward. About five feet out, she could hear someone shifting just ahead of them and then—_BOOM!_ Adenrele was the first to begin shooting; a quick succession of bullets spewed from the barrel of her assault rifle. A tin trashcan that had suddenly fallen over seemed to take most of the hits. It jerked and rolled its way into the street littering garbage along the snow the whole way.

Adenrele stopped, confused. A second later there was a loud screeching yowl and it made her jump. Curses flew out of her mouth as a skinny orange cat skittered out and ran off into the night giving her an angry hiss. Thiago, however, was laughing his head off. Of course. Adenrele cursed again.

"Assassino de gatos!" He cackled and she glared at him as best as she could. "You're a cat killer! Wait until they hear about this one."

He held his gun with one hand so that he could wipe away a tear with the other. Adenrele snarled at him. "You are going to keep your mouth shut. Do you understand?" When Thiago kept laughing, she reinforced her command in Portuguese. "_Você entendeu?_"

Thiago, still shaking with laughter, finally raised his hands in mock surrender but continued giving her a toothy grin. "Whatever you say, boss."

If Adenrele had been ten years younger, she might have rolled her eyes at the older man. But now she just felt tired. Stupid creature. "And the animal is still alive. I am _not_ a cat killer," she insisted in a low mutter and then kicked the snow.

"So that means you're just a bad shot?"

"We can test that theory if you wish. I am sure my aim is good enough to blow off your other foot."

She could feel Thiago's amusement and she knew he was a few seconds away from laughing at her again. She clenched her jaw and studiously ignored him. Her nerves were raw and she couldn't believe she actually shot at the dumb animal. Or technically at the trashcan.

Her partner was back to muttering to himself in Portuguese. From what basic phrases she understood, he was talking about her and the cat and probably would continue to do so for the rest of the night… unless she did something. With a quirk to her lips, she whipped around and aimed firing a single warning shot at him. The snow kicked up and smoke rose from the ground directly next to Thiago's right foot. He had simply stood there as she shot at him, mouth open and no small measure of shock on his face. Adenrele for the first time that night broke into a full blown grin and Thiago quickly went from surprise to rage.

"What the f—"

"—_HELP! PLEASE DON'T—!_"

The scream ended abruptly and Adenrele had her gun up in a second, the previous moment forgotten the instant the sound rang out through the night. Thiago followed her, his movements more jerky than hers—most likely from his temper flaring up.

The commotion came from the end of the road towards Shoreline Boulevard, near the bay. Without a word to the other, they began carefully walking that way.

Adenrele got the same feeling she had before they began their patrol. Like spiders crawling up and down her back, her neck, her scalp—thousands of them. There was a reason why Bane wanted her on the south patrol and she had a feeling she was about to find out why.

When they got closer the sounds of a commotion up ahead became more distinct. There were no more screams, but someone was hit (pistol whipped was Adenrele's guess) and then there was a grunt ending with a drawn out groan. Someone was cursing and spitting. Adenrele grit her teeth and prepared herself. If her suspicions were right, it seemed she would have her third run-in with the recently freed Blackgate prisoners. She had long ago made her opinion of their character very clear. She might be a killer, but they were worse. They were so much worse and they enjoyed it.

Maybe she'd enjoy killing them.

There was a dim street light burning ahead and the light showed six figures, five were standing and one was on his knees. Adenrele recognized them instantly. They all belonged to Bane—like her. All of them except the boy kneeling on the ground.

He looked no older than sixteen.

It was obvious he had been the one who had been hit from the blood pouring out of a hole in his cheek. She grimaced at the sight; his teeth must have cut straight through and he was crying softly. The mercenary standing in front of the boy turned slowly, as if he had heard Adenrele and Thiago's approach even though they made no noise.

It was Barsad.

He showed no expression at their arrival, but she watched his jaw clenched, just once. The blood splatter on his hand was redder as the scarf around his neck and Adenrele felt her eyes drawn to it.

Barsad had not wanted her here and Bane had, she thought again. Now she knew why.

She tore her eyes away and quickly glanced at the other mercenaries, a few nodded at her while others were still and silent. Next to her, Thiago spit out one word. "_Traitor._" For one small moment, Adenrele wondered who Thiago was talking about. But that moment was fleeting.

They stood just out of the circle of light, on the edge of darkness and Adenrele wondered at how symbolic that was.

"Come," her partner said suddenly and finally. He kept his eyes on the scene in front of them. "Barsad has this handled."

Thiago was waiting for her, but she wasn't able to move her feet quite yet. The eyes of the boy were on her from where he kneeled and it felt like fire (_save me, save me, save me_)_._ She didn't have to guess at what he had done to deserve an execution like this, in the secrecy of the night. He was not the first and Adenrele knew that he would not be the last. With Bane, they lived in a sort of paradox where having the desire to live would only guarantee your death.

Bane's message was clear—like a glass sea. Adenrele's survival instincts had been kicking into overdrive and Bane must have caught on. Cowardice was not tolerated and desertion equaled treachery to Bane.

She didn't know what made her more angry, that Bane thought her a coward or that Barsad was about to kill a child.

"Adenrele, he has this handled," Thiago said again but she hardly heard it. The fire from the boy was burning her again and it felt like a brand or a seal. He was so young. The excitement of the revolution must have faded for him and turned into a very real nightmare. She understood. He must have tried to make a run for it. She understood that too, even if she never acted upon it.

_But he is young_, she thought again. Adenrele knew the rules, but she hated it when they called for the death of children. It felt _wrong_ in every way and it set her stomach to rot.

She could feel Barsad's eyes on her and it made her skin itch terribly. "He has this handled," she repeated slowly. Adenrele pinned him with her gaze. She needed to know. "You have this handled, Barsad?"

It wasn't really a question, but she wanted an answer.

"Yes."

He stared at her for a long time and his gaze wasn't hard or angry or hateful. It never was. She thought that most days it was sad. But none of that was what she saw now. What she saw was all of the ugly things that Barsad has done his whole life. And she saw herself swirling round and round like stars freewheeling too fast overhead. So many years, so many times they had almost died. She _knew_ him. He was the one who found her. He didn't hurt her after she tried to kill him—twice. He was the one who helped her scrub the blood off of her hands that first night and gave her permission to cry—even though the tears never fell.

His hands were the ones soaked now and she wasn't sure she could clean this blood off.

Adenrele thought again, painfully bright, that Barsad had not wanted her to see this.

"Come on," Thiago nudged her with his shoulder. He was annoyed, whether at the delay or still about her shooting at him, she didn't care now. "Let him deal with the traitor, we have to keep moving anyway. We have a long night ahead."

Yes, they did.

_Don't take the patrol south of Shoreline Boulevard._ Barsad's words echoed in her mind and it was becoming a mantra for her. Even if Bane had wanted to send her a message, Barsad had not wanted her to see this, he did not want her to see this, he did not want her to see this. So much so that he went against orders so that she wouldn't. He took a risk and she would honor that. The boy's eyes might be fire but there was nothing that could be done. His fate was sealed.

Adenrele walked away, further into the darkness and when a single gunshot, that horrible sound that was so final and so sudden because it was just once and then… nothing, echoed from behind them, she adjusted her gun and kept moving. Barsad had this handled.

* * *

He must have lost his mind.

That was the only explanation John Blake could come up with for what he was about to do. There was no logic in it, no way to be positive that this wasn't going to be magnificently screwed up in the end. He was just going with his gut. Actually, if he thought about it, this was the kind of thing that he normal did. The kind of thing that usually got him heat from his superiors. Only the last time he could back it up with hard evidence: blueprints of the sewers, records on Dagget's construction company _and_ in the end it got him promoted to detective.

Blake looked down at the hand drawn color-coded map and folded it back up before placing it in his pocket. He laughed and it was more of a quick exhale of breath than an actual laugh. Desperate times called for desperate measures, he guessed.

Turning from Fifth Street where he had been watching the trucks roll by this morning, Blake headed East towards Francisco's grocery. He had spent the last three days checking out every detail of Jamie's information, trying to find a loophole. And he did find one, a big one, just not with her information. So far she had been disturbingly right about the trucks, the streets, the timing, everything. It all matched up.

Well, all of it except for her. Jamie was the loophole.

She had conviction in spades, sure, but how in the world did a kid like her get this kind of intel? She knew about the cops and where they were in the tunnels, where they were getting the food drops. She knew too much and something was just… _off_ about her. And the way she threw around the Commissioner's name was like she had a death wish.

Blake didn't think she was one of Bane's. She wasn't lying when she told him why she wanted to help, but there were too many unanswered questions and it was starting to give him a migraine.

About a half a mile away from Francisco's, the detective mentally shoved her away for the time being and began going over every other piece of information he had to share. It wasn't much, to be honest, aside from the paper burning like acid in his pocket. There was another one of the St. Swithun's boys that had been found dead a few nights ago and he hadn't been washed up in the sewers. He had been shot, execution style: a single a bullet to the head. It looked like his face had taken a pretty good beating before his death, too.

His name was Max and he was fifteen years old. Blake remembered him. He liked basketball and watching _Spongebob Squarepants_. His favorite food was pizza with sausage and green olives. Now he was dead.

Blake knew it was about time that he got Father Reilly to give him all the records of the boys who had aged out, he needed to know how many were possibly working for Bane. That would be a visit Blake would not be looking forward to making, but it had to be done. He was tired of seeing these boys wind up dead for a cause they didn't fully understand.

Hunching his shoulders against the wind, Blake glared at the fresh snow on the sidewalk. It was steadily getting colder and that wasn't good for Gotham. Plus, he hated the cold. There was nothing welcoming about it.

Taking a right turn, Blake checked the street and saw Francisco's kid, Charlie, waiting like usual outside the store. The bottom half of his green apron peaked out under his heavy coat. When he saw Blake's approach, he looked down the street both ways and waved him over. Blake kept his walk the same, nonchalant.

Francisco's was a mom and pop kind of place, a hole in the wall store with a big freezer in back that was perfect for their meetings. Blake used to come here before Bane, they always had a good choice in different cuts of meat and he liked supporting local businesses rather than the huge chains.

"Hey John." Charlie looked ready to burst. His eagerness reminded Blake a little of Jamie. It was whole-hearted and completely reckless.

"Charlie." Blake nodded and stopped to shake the younger man's hand. "The Commissioner here?"

"Yeah," Charlie said enthusiastically and grinned jerking his head back to the building behind him. "He got in about five minutes ago with everyone else."

"Good. Are you staying out here?"

"Yeah, gonna keep an eye out."

Blake clasped him on the shoulder and went inside. Charlie's parents were behind the counter, looking anxiously out the window and Blake offered them a small smile as he made his way toward the back. They would have to find a way, somehow, to repay them. These people took a serious risk opening up their store for what was left of the city's cops to use as a base. It was a safe spot for all of them to travel to, far enough away from City Hall and any major cells of mercenaries. And now Blake knew that it was also a good distance from the routes the trucks took.

Heading straight for the back, Blake pushed through the double doors. Charlie was right, everyone was there. Which was almost sad because there were only about fifteen of them. A lot of these guys were veteran cops; the ones who had survived the Joker's reign of terror, who hadn't been bought out in the height of the mob. Two of these men had retired at least three years ago, but the occupation of a masked terrorist had forced them back into service.

They were gathered in a loose circle—waiting for him, most likely. The Commissioner, who had been in the middle of a conversation, looked at him over the top of his glasses, "Good of you to show up, rookie."

"What'd I miss?"

They spent the next hour going over different reports from all over the city. Most of them were the same: a woman was attacked in the Narrows, a man was beaten and left for dead, from what they could tell Bane's revolution only seemed to be growing in strength and numbers. Regular citizens of Gotham were giving their loyalty by the day to get their hands on any gun that they could. That meant that there were more untrained and armed people on the street, thus more blood and more "accidents". It was a nightmare. And then there was the issue of winter starting to really settle in and the power outages and what to do about getting heat to Gotham if the power went out for good. Blake sardonically thought that if things didn't turn around soon they wouldn't have to worry too much; the bomb would provide more than enough heat for everyone.

Enough heat to burn them all alive.

Gordon seemed particularly frustrated today and Blake felt very much the same. It was hard, meeting in total secrecy and having more and more problems reported every week with little to no solutions. It was a horrible feeling, helplessness. The city was slowly falling into a deep, dark pit and John Blake didn't know if they were going to be able to climb out of it. At least not without a miracle.

The meeting drew to a grueling end and Blake glanced at the time. He had a few hours to convince the Commissioner before he had to meet Jamie. It shouldn't be too hard, as long as he downplayed the origin of the map itself.

Different men were starting to trickle out, one by one and with enough time between their exits so that suspicions wouldn't be raised. John Blake waited for a moment alone with the Commissioner. This would be for Gordon's eyes only until they could get a more definite feel on it.

The moment came when the last man, Robertson, left after a gripping handshake with the Commissioner and a nod to Blake. As soon as he was gone, Gordon deflated with a deep and heavy sigh. He pulled off his glasses to rub his tired eyes.

Now or never.

"Commissioner." Blake began carefully. "I think you better take a look at this."

Gordon looked at him, expectant and then down to his hands. He stared at the paper for one moment before he took it, still folded, just as it had been handed to Blake in the first place. The police Commissioner's brows rose and the action wrinkled the skin on his forehead. He shot the young detective a brief curious glance before replacing his glasses and starting the unfolding process.

Blake watched the expressions on the older man's face as he took in all the details, his eyes raking over the information again and again. One hand came up to his mouth, his index finger resting over his thick mustache, a natural thing he did when in deep thought. Seconds ticked by until finally Gordon spoke.

"How did you—"

"I've spent the last three days checking it out myself," Blake cut him off, not quite ready to answer that question yet. "Everything on there is correct. And I think we were right, about the trucks. They probably have lead lined roofs—"

"—keeping the mainland surveillance from getting a read." Gordon finished this time and Blake was right with him.

"Exactly. With this, we can start tracking the trucks, and then maybe the bomb. We might stand a better chance of getting a scan on it from the ground level."

"This is good, this is _very_ good," Gordon was grinning suddenly and there was something new in his voice, a vicious excitement. Blake thought it sounded like revenge. The Commissioner went back to looking at the map and then his brows furrowed and confusion washed over him. He pointed, tapping his finger on one single spot. "What is that, son?"

Blake moved over and Gordon showed him what he was talking about.

"I think it's a truck, sir."

Gordon looked at him seriously, then back to the drawing. Blake had to admit that it was a ridiculous truck. It was more like a deranged box with a grumpy stick figure sitting on it than an armored vehicle driven by mercenaries. Gordon must have thought the same. "If that's a truck, stick to being a detective. You won't get very far in the arts."

Hesitating, Blake tried to figure out how to proceed. "Well, you see, sir, it's not mine. The map. I didn't draw it."

"Who gave you this?"

"A kid—a girl," the young detective corrected himself and he could see the wheels not just turning in the Commissioners head, oh no, they were spinning out of control. "Her name is Jamie, I can't remember her last name but I'm pretty sure it's something French. She met me outside of St. Swithuns three days ago."

"And this 'kid'… how old is she?"

"My guess would be about sixteen, maybe seventeen."

"Where did she come from? Who is she? How did she get this?" Gordon fired off question after question and Blake felt like an idiot because he had no idea. He had been so shell shocked that first day that he hadn't thought to get any more information on her and now the questions were plaguing him.

"I honestly don't know."

"Can she be trusted?" Gordon's voice went quiet and Blake thought about it. He thought about what she said about the Batman, the fear in her eyes when he had the gun on her and the hatred in her voice when she talked about what had happened to Gotham. He tried to find one piece of hard evidence that could prove that yes, she could be trusted. But all he had was his gut and his own investigating of her information. He knew nothing about her.

Gordon watched the hesitation and then he suddenly hit Blake in the chest with the map. "Find out, rookie."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Today was the day and Jamie was trying not to panic.

Today she would go to St. Swithuns and if John Blake wasn't there, she would go again in another three days. But he would be there, she knew it. She refused to believe that a cop would take something that had even the slightest possibility of being evidence and do nothing with it. His type was too suspicious for that.

In the meantime, something had told her she needed to have more information ready for when Officer Blake decided to make his appearance. She needed to keep the interest, somehow. But she had no leads, no ideas, no revelations, nothing. And so Jamie did the only thing she could think of: she integrated herself into The People's Court of Gotham.

It might have been the most insane thing she had ever done, or the most insanely _brilliant_. She wasn't sure which one it was going to be yet. But she had been coming in for the past few days, quiet as a mouse, slipping in with the other citizens of Gotham.

Getting in was easier than she thought it would be, staying there, however, was not.

With the never ending shouts twisting their way around the room bending everything into a bitter, bitter circle, to the cries of the condemned, Jamie spent most of her time trying to drown it all out and concentrate on what she was there to do.

It didn't help that she was seeing the person who was responsible for so many of her friends' childhood nightmares, including a few of her own, for the first time in person. And Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, seemed even more unhinged now than he had all those years ago when he ran wild with that famous burlap sack on his head as he destroyed the Narrows. The old jacket he wore with feathers and hay and ripped seams did not help either. He sat atop an enormous pile of books and banged the gavel he had been given multiple times a day.

Sometimes Jamie thought he did it just for fun.

Pieces of paper would float down as he scribbled notes and tossed away files and the lives of people in a grand fashion. After watching him, she understood why Bane had chosen him of all people: he put on a good show.

The trials themselves—or really as Crane repeatedly corrected everyone, the sentencing hearings—numbered so many that she could hardly keep track of all of those who had been put to death or exiled. The doctor was making quick work of Gotham and the people loved him for it. They embraced madness, they embraced their own death, Jamie thought. They welcomed it and asked for more. Always more.

On her first day there she had to force herself to stay even as her stomach started to churn. She wrote down whatever information she could in shaky handwriting on the pages of the tiny notebook she carried. There had been one ridiculous moment, in the beginning, where she felt like Steve from that show, _Blue's Clues_. Only this involved death and exile and the quick fall of Gotham's morality instead of a quirky blue dog and a singing mailbox.

But that moment came and went the more that blood was shed. She tried to yell with them when the people got particularly rowdy, though she found that she could never really raise her voice to their height. She tried her best to blend in all the while carefully jotting down whatever information she thought might be valuable. She counted how many mercenaries were there every day and how armed they were, exits and possible entries, noted the door that Crane seemed to enter from and exit to every day. She tried to see if there were any weak spots, anything they could use. She even attempted to find out if Bane followed a schedule for the days he would sit in on the sessions. But he didn't, as far as she could tell, because he hadn't made one single appearance.

Most of this felt like useless information, just random facts, but she wrote it down categorizing it into each day she had been a witness in the court. She was stabbing in the dark and she knew it, but it was better than doing nothing. Doing something, even something crazy, was always better than doing nothing she thought.

"Sherman Fine, realtor and… broker. You have been charged with multiple counts of fraud, greed, and oh, accessory to murder. How do you plea?" Crane's voice cut through her thoughts and Jamie was suddenly shoved hard against the railing. The crowd had lurched forward, moving in an abrupt wave almost like they were one massive body, one single and deadly predator. Gripping the banister, Jamie pushed back to give herself some more room.

The shouting grew to a painful volume as a new victim was brought to the forefront of the court. He was different than the others. He wasn't begging for mercy. The man was utterly calm in an expensive looking suit, black with a cobalt blue silk tie. And he looked straight at Dr. Crane without blinking.

"Not guilty, and you know that, _Scarecrow_."

The man's voice was biting and Jamie found herself for the first time since she came to court interested in what was going to happen.

"You played the system and now the system is simply returning the favor," Crane told him with a smile and there was something meaningful behind it. "Death or exile; which will it be?"

The crowd began shouting their own opinion which always seemed to be the same no matter who was in the chair: death. They always wanted death. They thrust their way forward and Jamie had to keep her hands planted firmly on the banister and her arms rigidly straight just so that she wouldn't be crushed beneath the weight of their fury. She thought again that this was different than the others. This was like lighting crackling in the room. These people wanted this man dead, more dead than any of the others, and if they didn't get what they wanted…

"That was just business, Scarecrow. I worked for you. I gave you places to hide, without me you would have never lasted as long as you did in Gotham. You _need_ me."

"Oh, my friend," the doctor said with false sincerity. "This is not _me_ bringing you into court today. This is the people of Gotham. And someone must have not been too pleased with your services. You see, they are the jury," he adjusted his glasses and Jamie noticed that they were now slightly lopsided. "I merely keep the disorder. And it looks as though they have found you…"

Crane paused for effect and the mob loved it as they began screaming again. Their voices were so contorted that not one word was even distinguishable, just the pure molten hot hate. Crane looked immensely pleased. "Guilty. So, should I ask one more time? Death or exile?"

The man tensed, every line in his body rigid as he was filled with rage. Finally, he stood and Crane seemed excited for the first time that day. Something was about to happen, Jamie realized, and she was trapped between the banister and the throbbing madness at her back.

"I'll take death," Sherman snarled and then reached into his suit, "just not mine."

It didn't take long for the crowd to react when Sherman Fine pulled out the gun and shot the two mercenaries closest to him. It was instantaneous chaos, screaming and running, the citizens of Gotham trampling over each other as they tried to flee. The doors were too narrow for the masses to exit. They panicked even more as they grew congested, trying to escape what they had thought was their place of ultimate justice. And when more shots were fired, it only became worse.

Jamie had run too, at first. But once she realized no one was getting through the doors, she crouched down next to a pillar and covered her head. More shots fired and there were angry shouts and then in terrifying clarity, the noise died down and there was nothing but movement. People ran by her, shoving one another, their mouths opened and veins in their necks popped out, but there was no noise. She felt it then, that unmistakable presence of something distinctly _other._ It was gentleness and strength all at once and she latched onto it desperately.

She wasn't alone. Thank God she wasn't alone.

**_Look_****.**

Jolted, Jamie actually shook when she heard it. Unquestioningly, she took her hands away from her head and turned more fully to watch the chaos. The mob was still thrashing around desperate to get out and the mercenaries that were left in the courthouse were closing in on Sherman Fine as he made a run straight for the door that Crane normally used.

Crane was nowhere to be seen. He had vanished.

In the rush, the men (some of them Bane's) were disorganized and disoriented. This had been unexpected, after all. And maybe that was why Sherman Fine was able to slip out of their reach and away from their bullets. There was a room or multiple rooms in the back of the building, to the left the giant desk. She had already known that, but when Sherman Fine ran in there and turned shooting at anyone who attempted to follow, Jamie learned something new. There must have been a way out, an escape, through those doors because once the mercenaries were finally able to follow, they returned moments later empty handed.

He got away. Sherman Fine got away.

In a state of shock, Jamie couldn't help but wonder why there weren't more men storming the building, where were the backups? Then she turned back to the mob and realized very quickly that the people were blocking the main way in. Shaking, Jamie got out her notebook and her writing was barely legible, but she would know what it said. She then quickly began counting the number of mercenaries, her mouth silently forming the numbers.

A woman was suddenly and violently thrown to the ground next to her and Jamie instinctively covered her head again and tried to disappear. The backup had finally arrived. Peaking out and seeing the sudden influx she began counting the men once more, starting over. Knowing how many could respond to an attack like this, even with a delay, would be very good. She started at the door where Sherman Fine had disappeared, her eyes gradually shifting across the room.

_Seven, eight, nine… twelve, thirteen, fourteen… sixte—_

Jamie froze. Absolutely stunned, her pen dropped from her hand as she stared at him.

_Bane_.

He stood by a pillar directly across from her and she hadn't even noticed until just now. But what scared her more was that he wasn't paying any attention to his men running back and forth, or to the dead they were collecting from Sherman Fine's escape. No, he was looking right at her.

Shit, she thought. Oh _shit_.

Her body was frozen. She had no idea what to do. She couldn't make herself move, even though her body felt like it was in one of those dreams where she was falling, falling, falling faster than she could scream. And all that he had done to strike such drowning horror in her was simply look at her.

This city is ruined, something small whispered inside of her head. It is ruined and there is no hope against something like _that_. How could they win? One look and she was vulnerable, bare in front of him. She had no mask to hide behind, nothing to protect her.

The noise suddenly came back full force and she could hear one of the mercenaries shouting something about Sherman Fine knowing blueprints and the last vestiges of the mob still trying to get out. It was so overwhelming that Jamie shook, just once and she knew that Bane noticed when his head tilted just the slightest. With that one small movement Jamie knew that this staring contest wouldn't last much longer without one of them doing something.

She was going to be the one.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Jamie began to stand up and as she did the force of his gaze was still on her but he did not move. Her knees trembled shaking her already shaken soul. Clutching the notepad in her hand, she forgot about the pen. Her foot fumbled a little as she felt behind her for solid ground. And then she took one step back and another and one to the side before she was behind the pillar and out of his sight.

The relief was so strong that Jamie nearly dropped back down to her knees. But being near the door already and having freedom right there, she stumbled and tripped nearly running face first into another mercenary on her way out. Her breathing was close to hysterical and she could hear herself practically keening.

She was so stupid, so, so stupid. Jamie berated herself as she scrambled down the courthouse's steps, slipping a little before breaking into a full out sprint. How had she not even noticed him come into the courthouse? She had no idea how long he had been there let alone how long he had been watching her. Jamie was supposed to be able to blend in, that was one thing she could do. But she had been the only person still and quiet, _freaking counting_, in the midst of wild pandemonium. Of course he had noticed her. Anyone would have.

She blew it, Jamie thought. She might have new information, but Bane saw her and she blew it. What did she think she was doing, anyway? And why her, _why_ out of all of the people in the world did God choose to talk to her?

**_Because you listen._**

"And what would happen if I chose not to?" She asked aloud and then grimaced. Fabulous, she was now officially talking to herself.

There was no answer and as Jamie Delacroix slowed her once desperate run into an exhausted walk, she understood. There was no answer because there was no way that she would choose _not_ to listen. Especially not now. She was a person who was all about setting things into motion because she had been set into motion years ago when she first heard the voice. And all of it, all of it had led up to this.

She just hoped she wouldn't get killed in the process.

* * *

**AN: **Joan of Arc was considered insane by a good majority of people when she was alive due to the fact that she claimed to hear "voices" which she told people was in fact the "Voice of God". Is this true? We have no idea, but there seemed to be a sort of divine inspiration to many of the things she did. Many of the strategies and predictions that she made were fairly incredible and gave many the suspicion that what she knew was naturally impossible. Interesting stuff.

While writing this I felt like I was playing on a big chess board here, moving this piece here, that piece there. Its pretty fun but I really have to be careful as to when I move what piece. It also took me longer than I thought it would to write John Blake. He was being difficult! I also hope the courtroom scene wasn't too confusing… I've rewritten it a few times.

Thank you to those who reviewed so far and thanks to all who are reading now. You are fabulous and I'm having way too much fun with this story. Because I get to watch Batman Begins, TDK, and TDKR as often as I want for "research", which can translate correctly to this: I am in a Batman craze and I really want a cape.

Toodles!

- LIP

P.S. Where did Sherman Fine A.K.A. _The Broker_ come from? I DON'T KNOW. HE JUMPED ON THE PAGE AND IT FREAKED ME OUT. So, naturally, I went with it.


	4. Courage Is

**PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE BOTTOM. **

**Disclaimer** – I do not own the Batman universe, Nolan's or comic. I do own this plot within a plot (which reminds me I also sadly don't own the movie Inception… I must remedy that) and my OC's.

* * *

**_One Life_**** by TheNotoriousLIP **

* * *

**Chapter Three: Courage Is**

The city was silent, obscenely so.

Void of not just people, but _life_, Gotham looked as though it the bomb had already gone off. Sure, all the buildings were still mostly intact, there were no piles of rubble, but the city was well on its way to death. Stores with shattered windows lined the streets accented by the shredded American flags that had been strung along the balconies of second, third, and fourth story apartments. There were tanks constantly roaming, tumblers made of steel, equipped with retractable canons and missile launchers, painted in desert camouflage that were frighteningly similar to the Batman's own vehicle. There were trucks that may or may not be carrying a nuclear bomb and pickup trucks with heavy machine guns in their beds… but there were no people.

At least Jamie never saw one as she made the long walk to St. Swithuns. Maybe after the courtroom catastrophe she was just being more sensitive than normal, but she felt like right now she was the only living soul in a city that was supposed to hold twelve million. Where were they? How was it possible for twelve million people to hide so effectively?

Jamie walked completely lost in her thoughts feeling like she was drowning in the stillness that was Gotham. She had six blocks to get to the boys home and that was probably just what she needed to bring herself back down to earth. Though her hands were still shaking (would they ever stop?) from her encounter with Bane, she walked with a purpose. Of course, she was only this confident because she had just spent the last ten minutes in a back alley screaming her lungs out into her winter coat and biting the material as hard as she possibly could until tears leaked out of her eyes.

But she was good now. Mostly.

Half-way good. She was half-way good.

Jamie had been surprised, honestly, that in the midst of her panic attack she had been able to hear the low beep of her watch telling her to get her butt over to St. Swithuns or else. But she was glad she did, because she needed to be there. And to think, she almost didn't make it to this meeting at all. _Hell_ that was too close. He could have crushed not just her neck, but her _spine_ with his bare—

When a tremor hit her, strong, Jamie automatically breathed in and then blew out nice and slow. She knew how to calm herself down. That meant happy thoughts—not thoughts about… _him_.

So Jamie desperately pulled up any thoughts she could about her little-big sister, Jaclyn, anything, anything to distract her from thinking about Bane and the Courthouse. Jaclyn. Jaclyn. Jaclyn who was fourteen now and tougher than Jamie would ever be. She was also taller than Jamie would ever be, already built like an athlete even though she wasn't fully matured. And unlike most younger siblings, Jaclyn didn't gloat in her stellar growing abilities when she surpassed her older sister.

Being older, Jamie felt it was her responsibility to teach her baby-giant sister what it meant to laugh from your belly and not just your mouth. But it was a difficult task and Jamie was becoming more and more convinced that Jaclyn had been born seriously lacking a sense of humor. Or if she did have one, it was so dry that Jamie didn't fully understand it. But Jamie loved her to bits and she was positive that if she let her, Jaclyn would be right alongside her for this ride… which might have been a useful thing seeing that Jamie could stand to have some muscle follow her around.

Nope.

Happy thoughts, Jamie chided herself and picked up her pace a little as she got closer. Her legs had stopped shaking now, but her hands seemed determined to keep it up. She also studiously ignored the infinitesimal _tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick_ she could hear in the background of life. It had been there since the start of this all and any time she began to doubt in these last few weeks, it was there, ticking away like her own personal giant Big Ben—but only in her head.

She didn't exactly think that was a very reassuring noise to hear, but it got the point across.

When Jamie looked up next she felt a smile, a real one albeit very small, flit across her face and her hands shook violently once more. John Blake had come. And he was waiting for her in the exact same spot she had first stood three days ago.

She knew he would come.

Harshly, Jamie stuffed her shaking extremities in the pockets of her coat, because John Blake was a cop and they typically looked for those kinds of things and he might get the wrong idea about her and think she was some druggie going through withdrawals from the tremors that kept wracking through her.

He saw her the moment she came around the corner, the movement catching his attention right away. And just like last time, she smiled at him a little too big and a little too forced and he did not return it. Blake wordlessly nodded his head towards St. Swithuns when she got close enough and motioned for her to follow him. She did, grateful to go inside and out of the cold. And it gave her a little more time to get a _freaking grip_.

Silently they walked up the steps and Jamie was more surprised than she should have been when he opened the door for her. Going inside, she was hit by the heat right away and sighed in relief, immediately closing her eyes and letting it thaw out her face in painful little prickles. Blake stomped his feet on a rug by the door and looked up at her. "Can you get as much snow off as you can? Father Reilly is kind of a freak about that."

Jamie looked down at her boots and saw that she had tracked in a good amount of the wet slushy stuff. Crap. She usually thought about stuff like that.

"Oh, sorry," she apologized quietly and followed his example. When her boots were as snow-free and dry as they could be, Blake led her up the narrow stairway.

Upstairs she found that St. Swithuns no longer served as just a boys home. It was a refugee center. There were families huddled up together, and of course the children outnumbered the adults and they all seemed to be constantly moving all at once and all over the place. A few of the boys recognized Blake right away and came over to talk, but Jamie hardly heard what they said and he dismissed them pretty quick and nodded a hello to what must have been Father Reilly.

When Blake suddenly grabbed her arm and gave her a funny look as he lead her into another smaller room where they were away from the noise and alone, Jamie realized he must have been trying to talk to her. She shook her head, took another deep breath as yet another tremor—lighter than the others, thank God, rolled through her.

The room he took her to was actually a kitchen. It was sparse; a small counter to the left with a fridge and sink behind it and a simple dining table to the right. Jamie shrugged off her coat feeling like she was moving in slow motion and set it behind a chair she then proceeded to sit in. Blake was standing by the counter staring at her and looking decidedly uncomfortable. Jamie herself wasn't sure what was going on, except that she thought she might be having a really bad panic attack. Maybe. But even if she wasn't having a panic attack, she still didn't think she would know what to say or how to begin.

A small part of her mind told her to ask about the map, but her brain wasn't functioning properly at the moment. What was _wrong_ with her?

"Would you like something to drink?"

The question surprised her and Jamie jumped. "Yeah, sure. That would be great."

Blake went right away into the kitchen and got an electric kettle and filled it with water. She watched as he concentrated and then set it to boil before quickly moving through the cabinets and pulling out two mugs and a large glass jar filled with white packets with little red writing on them. Blake looked at the packets for a second, glanced back into the cabinet he got them from like he expected something else to magically appear, before he shook his head and grinned. It was the second smile she had ever seen him wear and Jamie absently thought it suited him better than his frowns.

"Looks like Father Reilly still keeps the secret stash in the same not very secret spot. And it looks like he is still against coffee, tea, and anything that someone over fifteen would normally drink," Blake popped off the top of the glass jar and lifted a packet to show Jamie. "You like hot chocolate?"

Jamie stared at him for a long moment, probably too long by most social standards but hey, she had just been in a major situation about an hour ago. Long stares were okay, for now. Blake waited patiently and she couldn't even begin to think of how to explain to him how wonderful that sounded. Hot chocolate was her go-to comfort drink and just what she needed… and probably something her mom would have made for her. Not a police officer in a boys home/refugee camp.

"That sounds absolutely perfect." She smiled at him and there was a hidden relief in his eyes. He was probably happy she wasn't going catatonic on him.

The kettle made a clicking sound and soon Blake was pouring the water, stirring the drink and then coming over with a steaming cup of hot chocolate. When she noticed that he had put his mug back in the cabinet, despite the water being ready and there being enough packets of instant cocoa, she glanced at him curiously.

"You aren't a chocolate fan?" Jamie was extremely careful to make sure that her hands weren't shaking too violently when she grabbed the cup of cocoa. That could have been a total disaster.

"I drink coffee." He said simply and she made a face at that and took her first sip. It warmed her straight to her belly. Blake was watching and she saw his eyes flicker down to her hands and back to her face almost faster than she could blink. So he'd noticed.

Jamie thought about how funny it was to be sitting in this kitchen, talking about something so normal like hot chocolate after… everything. But she was going to keep it up as long as she could, because it was working. And Blake seemed content to let her get about half way through her cup before they began whatever it was they were here to do. He looked all around the kitchen, at the magnets on the fridge, the grooves of the wood on the table, at everything he could all the while observing her out of the corner of his eye.

"Are you pleased?" Blake gave her a funny look and Jamie continued. "Have you figured me out, yet, Officer?"

"Detective."

She blinked. Oh, she hadn't known that. "Congratulations."

He grinned, but it was harsh and there was no humor in it. "Got promoted because I decided to follow a wild goose chase down into the sewers. Gordon claimed that he had seen a masked man down there, no one believed him."

"But you did." He looked at her and nodded very seriously. Setting her cup down and quickly balling her hand into a fist and placing in under the table, out of sight and on her lap, Jamie leaned forward. "So what do you believe now?"

"I don't know," Blake sighed and rubbed a hand over his face looking suddenly very tired. "You were right about the map, about everything on it. I checked it out myself for three days trying to find some mistake, but there was nothing. The times, the streets, everything was good."

"So what does this mean?" Jamie tapped her feet on the ground and then stopped herself. She didn't want to seem too anxious or twitchy or whatever the heck was wrong with her, even though it was written in every line of her body. She had to play this just right. After what she went through today, there was no way she was ruining this. Plus, Blake thought of her as a kid, she could always tell when people did. It was something dismissive in the way they were about everything you said. Even if what you were saying was right, or important, there was a certain level of skepticism that people held when speaking to children. Whether it was in their voice or their face, it was there on some level. It drove Jamie insane. In her opinion, it should be the other way around—children were the most truthful people Jamie knew.

"It means nothing." Blake watched her carefully and after a moment he continued, choosing his words with caution. "Nothing until I know exactly who you are."

Hope fluttered in her heart and Jamie had to take a moment to make sure that her heart didn't jump straight through her mouth the second she opened it. She tapped her feet again and nodded—maybe a little too enthusiastically. "Is this going to be an interrogation?"

"Not really," he told her honestly. "But you can think of it like that, if you want."

Jamie grabbed her cup once more and sat back in her chair. She tipped it back and finished it off licking a drop that had escaped out of the side of her mouth. Satisfied and focusing on her happy thoughts, she nodded to him. "Fire away, Detective."

"What's your full name?"

"Jamie Marie Delacroix." She expected Blake to bring out a notepad and start writing everything down, like the cops on television. But he just sat opposite from her and thought for a second.

"Is that French?"

"Mhm."

"How old are you?"

She ignored the question and opted to ask one of her own. "What's your full name?" Blake stared at her not understanding and Jamie grinned. "You can't expect to ask me all of these personal questions and not have to answer any in return."

"I'm not the one who is under investigation right now."

"So this _is_ an interrogation."

He looked slightly put out at this point as he finally conceded. "John Blake."

"So you have… two first names?" Jamie could see the irritation building. Something in her couldn't stop, beside this was making her feel more normal, more like the confident Jamie. Not the sniveling terror-child she had been reduced to. "I don't know which to call you. John… Blake… Detective."

"John or Blake will be fine."

"Sure thing, Detective."

She snickered at the look he gave her and it was real and it made her feel so immensely relieved. Mission accomplished: she was relaxing. She could do this.

"How old are you?" He asked again, this time more firm.

"Nineteen. Surprised? Most people usually are."

The dark haired man flat out lied as he shook his head, "No."

"How old are _you_?" She quipped, amused and Blake merely ignored the question getting back to his own.

"What school did you go to?"

"Gotham High." Jamie looked down to her empty mug and traced a circle on the edge of it with her index finger. Of course, at that moment, a tremor decided to come back full force and her hand shook of its own accord. Just once, but her fingernail clanged against the cup loud enough to be heard. Deeply and suddenly embarrassed, Jamie could not bring herself to look up at the man across from her. She tucked her hands back into her lap and went back to her mantra of happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts.

"College?"

"Nope," there was a pause and she added quietly. "Never wanted to go. And besides, not going doesn't mean you're not intelligent."

Blake got up at that point and took her mug without asking. He went back over to the electric kettle, checked the water and when he saw that it was still hot he made her a second glass of hot chocolate. Jamie couldn't help but be a little suspicious. Either he knew she was uncomfortable and was trying to hide it, or he was just kind. She wasn't sure which, to be honest. He might have just been reading her body language, considering that had to be part of the qualifications of being a detective. She watched him with a small frown as he stirred in the chocolate power and continued to ask questions, this time not looking at her. "What job did you have?"

"I worked in a daycare center," Jamie murmured and when he returned and offered her a small smile before handing her the mug, she knew he did it because of how nervous she was. But if only he understood why… "I like kids."

"Family?"

A heartbeat of silence. "You mean, are they still alive? Yeah. My mom, Marie Delacroix, and my little-big sister Jaclyn. I'm living with them since—since everything. It's safer for us to stick together."

"What about you father?"

"I talk to him occasionally, but he's been gone from our home for seven years."

She took a moment to take a sip of her drink and Blake tapped his fingers briefly on the table top. She watched them move in a five beat pattern and her gaze slowly traveled up his arm back to his eyes. He looked serious, his face drawn and she knew instantly that the easy stuff was over and they were about to really start things. Happy thoughts.

"How did you know I was working for Commissioner Gordon?"

"I saw you, on that day the stadium was blown up," Jamie started and when Blake's brows shot up in surprise, she added quickly, "Well me and my dad saw you. I don't get together with my dad that often, usually it's for special occasions. That day happened to be his birthday, so it was sort of an obligatory thing. But I think with what happened that day maybe that was a sign that hanging around the old man isn't such a good idea, huh?" A small hollow laugh floated out of her and then shook her head. "Sorry. I ramble when I'm nervous. Anyway, you took our car, that's how I know you worked with Gordon."

"By the docks?" Blake asked incredulously.

"Yeah, when the sewers were getting blown to hell. You came over, shotgun in hand, and told us you were a cop and told us you needed our car. Well, things had just blown up and you had a gun, so of course we gave it to you. But the car had a GPS and my dad turned it on right away as you drove off and we eventually found it at the hospital. There were bodies in front of the entrance and when we asked what happened a security guard told us about the stadium, the bomb, and a young cop running through the hospital desperate to save the Commissioner." When she finished Blake looked even more confused than when she began and she felt a little bad for him. Things were about to get a lot weirder. "You don't remember me, huh?"

"No, I don't," he shook his head. "Sorry."

"That's okay, you were busy that day." It was the understatement of the year and they both knew it. But they let it slide without the typical expected sadistic sarcasm. Sometimes even that was tiring.

"So," Blake motioned toward her with his hand. "How did you know to meet me here?"

"I told you earlier, I watch a lot of things. I can be pretty unnoticeable." Flashes of a crazed mob clawing their way to freedom, a man with a cobalt blue tie, a gun, shots firing, and most of all the weight and horror of realizing Bane had caught her flew through her mind. She hastily added, "Most of the time. I can get around unnoticed most of the time."

Blake was nice enough to let her get away with that answer for the moment, but from the calculating look in his eyes she knew it wouldn't last long. "Is that how you knew about the trucks?"

"More or less."

"How did you know my full name?" Jamie looked at him. "That first day, you came up saying my full name."

Being brave was a hard thing, Jamie thought. Life was hard, but bravery—action in the midst of life—was harder and she was being tested for it on every front today; first with her flesh and blood, and now again with her memories, her reputation, her _person_. All that made up Jamie Delacroix was about to be set before this man in front of her for she told him the truth, there was a very real possibility that he would call her insane, chase her out of St. Swithuns, maybe even pull his gun on her. People's reactions were always different when they found out. That's why she usually didn't tell anyone, to protect herself. But maybe it was time to let the Detective in on the secret. She had already ran practically screaming from Bane, she didn't want to run again.

Maybe it was time to be brave.

Fingers wrapped around her mug, Jamie looked directly into Detective John Blake's eyes and knew it was time to take a chance. Nothing was shaking, and peace came soon after she made her choice, almost frightening in its effectiveness as it settled on her shoulders like a cloak. Jamie decided to embrace it.

"Do you believe in God, Detective?"

Blake went very, very still. "Excuse me?"

"God." Jamie said, firmer this time. "Do you believe that He exists?"

"No."

"Well, I do…" Jamie closed her eyes and breathed. There was no going back now. "…And I believe He talks to me."

She opened her eyes and Blake sat there, looking like he thought this was some big joke or that something was very wrong with her. Jamie forced herself to continue, truth was something that she would not deny him.

"You can think I'm crazy all you want, I know that look. But you should at least listen before you make your judgment so that you can make the right one," she felt bitterness seep into her for a brief moment before she shoved it away. Blake had a fixed expression on his face, like he was simply waiting for her to be done. She gritted her teeth. "It's been happening to me since I was thirteen. I was in my eighth grade Social Studies class when I first heard it—_Him_. It scared me so bad that I ran out of the class and ran to the bathroom and threw up. I couldn't stop throwing up either and was eventually sent home. I didn't tell my mom for another year, I was so scared that I would be locked away for good. But do you know what I was told?" She leaned forward, her eyes pleading with the man in front of her to understand. "That one day Gotham would have a faceless enemy and I was supposed to help, somehow. And I don't know if you've noticed, but we really have no idea what Bane's face looks like. He fits."

"Do you really believe what you're saying?" Blake cut in, barely suppressed anger in his voice as he hit the table twice with his index and middle fingers. "Right here, right now?"

"Yes," Jamie glared at him. She wasn't stupid.

"Okay," Blake scoffed. "So you believe that 'God' talks to you and tells you secrets and you want me to really buy this bullshit?"

"How else would it explain that I know that you, John Blake," she pointed at him, her voice raising. "_You_ bring the food drops to the cops south of Ackerman Park and that _you_ are also in contact with your partner who is down there. Or that what is left of this city's cops meet in the freezer of Francisco's grocery?" His eyes widened at that and then he went red in an instant.

"How do you know that?" Blake hissed, rising from his seat suddenly. She had never seen him so angry.

"_God_ told me that, Blake. He told me and I didn't even ask Him to."

"Do you realize these are people's lives you're playing with? This isn't a game!"

"I'm trying to tell you the truth here!" Jamie slammed her hand on the wood, frustrated to near tears. She didn't know what to do or how to convince him. "I'm trying to _help_ you so that we don't all turn to ash. I'm risking my life to help you."

Blake moved back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. Silence fell over them and Jamie felt so hopeless and helpless. She told him the truth. What more could she do? She tried but Blake refused to meet her gaze. He looked up to the ceiling, scowling. Jamie bit her lip and pressed on. If she had told him this much, why not bury herself all the way?

"Listen," she said softly and she thought her voice sounded a little broken. "I don't even know why He talks to me. I don't know why He chose me, a nineteen year old girl. I didn't ask for it, but He did and I'm listening. I've always thought of God as some mysterious being too busy playing checkers with angels up in the heavens somewhere to notice the ant-like people crawling the earth. But then He spoke to me. Am I afraid of Him? Yes, but much less than I was in the beginning. I don't know if God is entirely good, I look at what's happened to Gotham and I just… I don't know. I used to blame Him for all of the bad things happening in the world and I used to ask Him why He let it happen, but I think… I think sometimes God is asking us that question, too. Why do _we_ let it happen? And I guess one thing that hearing the voice of God has taught me is that if I can change something, I have to try. And if I do, maybe God will too. That is what I believe."

"I told Gordon about you today," Blake said suddenly and looked down to his shoes his voice quiet. "I told him I'd find out more about you, if you could be trusted. I don't think you're one of Bane's," he met her eyes his time and she saw the same desperation in them that she felt. They had both reached the end of their ropes, albeit their ropes were very different but they both had one thing in common: they eventually came to an end and she and Blake were hanging on for dear life. It was clear neither of them knew what to do. "But how do you expect me to go to the police Commissioner and tell him that the information I've been provided with came from a girl who claims she heard the voice of God? I mean—the things you know, it's crazy. But what you're telling me now… do you realize how wild this sounds?"

"Maybe you could think of this like another wild goose chase." Jamie smiled and it was very small. "And you don't have to tell Gordon anything, I can tell him myself if it makes you too uncomfortable… You know, some days I wake up and wonder if I'm crazy. And I don't know if I am," she shrugged, one simple raise of her shoulder. "I just know what I hear."

Blake sat back down, deflated, and there was a long silence as they both got lost in their thoughts. Finally, the dark haired detective broke it. "Why did you come to me?"

Funny, she had asked God that same question just hours ago. Jamie felt her mouth quirk and when she looked up she saw honest curiosity in John Blake's face. "Would you believe me if I said that it actually wasn't God that told me to come to you?"

"Then what did?"

"I saw something in you that I recognized." Jamie searched his eyes. "Drive."

* * *

They were walking back down the narrow stairway a few minutes later, both deciding that they had had enough for today. Jamie didn't know what any of this meant for her, she didn't feel particularly encouraged and considering the day as a whole that she had, she just wanted to go home and sleep.

Blake opened the door for her again and when she stepped out into the cold, Jamie was surprised to see that it was just on the verge of dark. They must have spent more time talking than she had originally thought. A small spike of fear went through her as she realized the walk home she would have to make. She wouldn't make it before the sun went down completely. And honestly, Jamie wasn't sure she could take any more incidents happening today. She had enough, thank you very much.

"I'll walk you home."

She turned to the man next to her in surprise. He must have read her mind, but Blake was looking out at the city and he glared at it. Jamie hadn't expected the offer, but she wasn't going to be stupid and turn it down.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure you're not walking home this late by yourself."

"Thank you," Jamie said softly and she meant it.

Blake didn't say anything else as they got back down to the street level. He didn't ask how far she lived, she guessed he didn't care from the hard set of his shoulders. Jamie was suddenly glad he was with her, despite the awkwardness.

Gotham hadn't changed since they had gone inside St. Swithuns. It was still incredibly silent, in a death-like state.

"I thought this was the city that never slept," Jamie said suddenly, surprising herself and the man next to her. "It looks more like it's the city that will never wake up."

Blake looked around them as she spoke and didn't say anything. He was clearly keeping his thoughts to himself. She pulled her coat tightly around herself and began the long walk, thankful when he fell into step beside her. There wasn't much left to say, and Blake was obviously on the lookout from the way his eyes constantly shifted over the streets. Their footsteps didn't make much noise, but even now, Jamie could hear it.

_Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick._

She wondered if the man next to her could hear it too, the great countdown of their lives. Or maybe this was a lovely sound only reserved for people like her. Jamie shook that thought from her head. She wouldn't tear herself down. She had come to terms with herself a long time ago and she wasn't going back down those old roads.

Their trip was silent, like the city, and when Jamie led them down the last street toward the house she and her mother and sister lived in, she felt an immediate sense of relief. She could go to sleep soon.

"This is my street," she nodded with her chin and Blake studied it. "By the way, I have some more information for you, if you want it." Blake turned and looked at her for the first time on their walk. He was suspicious, that much was clear, but Jamie waved her hand at him. "I don't care if you choose to never see me again, if I have something that I think could help you guys I am not going to be selfish enough to hold it hostage until you let me be a part of your '_club_'. The last three days, I've been going into the Courthouse with the other citizens."

There was a beat of silence and then Blake stopped walking completely, "You went_ where?_"

"You know, the Courthouse," Jamie kept her voice carefully nonchalant. "The one Doctor Jonathan Crane runs, A.K.A. the Scarecrow. I stood with the jury and got some statistics. I don't think it's really useful, but then again I'm not a cop," she pulled out the tiny notebook and played with it. "Most of it are things like how many mercenaries are there every day, how armed, observations on Crane's patterns, entries and exits, things like that. But today… something happened. That's why I was so shaky earlier," she looked at him now, her eyes painfully honest. "It scared me and I haven't been that scared in a long time."

"What happened?"

"There was a guy, Sherman Fine, on trial. Crane knew him, they went back and forth and Sherman acted like he had been betrayed, he said he had worked for the Scarecrow. Anyway, he—he pulled a gun, people panicked and ran for the door. But they all got stuck in the masses because the door wasn't big enough for all of them to get out at once. And Sherman got away by running to a room in the back, he found an escape route. I don't know where," she shook her head. "But here's the interesting part. Because the people panicked and blocked the main entryway, the backup was delayed a good five minutes. It was a small hole, a weakness, and the only thing I could find. But it's better than nothing, right?"

The detective did not seem to enjoy her self-deprecating smile. He turned and really looked at her, his eyes searching.

"Jamie," she absently noted that was the first time John Blake had said her name. It sounded funny after all this time. And then his hands were on her shoulders and she realized she must have drifted off in her own thoughts, exhaustion seeping into her. He bent down just a little to catch her eye, his face completely serious. "Can you tell me any other reason why you're doing this? Because honestly, what you're doing is suicidal. I need to know if there is any other reason."

She thought for a second and when she spoke her breath came out in little white puffs. "Do you know what the scariest thing is? To not know your place in this world, to not know why you're here. That's… it's just an awful feeling. My mom, used to ask me this question when I was a little girl, just to get me to think. 'If there was one thing in this entire world that I could change, what would it be?' What would I be so passionate about that I'd burn for it?"

She paused and looked to the man in front of her. John Blake was handsome and his face looked young and it made her smile. He was so full of fire and she knew then and there that maybe even if he never understood that God talked to her maybe, just maybe he would understand this. He had to because it was in him too.

"It took me years to find the answer, but I think I get it now," Jamie continued even more softly. "Sometimes you don't know what you would burn for until you're already on fire. By then, it's too late. You're just… burning."

Jamie left him then, standing there on the street and she walked the rest of the way to her house. When she got to her door and turned back, John Blake was still watching her with an unreadable look on his face. Jamie wasn't sure if she was ever going to see him again, so she smiled as best as she could and went inside wondering if he felt the heat of flames lick at his skin like she did.

* * *

"You look tired."

Adenrele hadn't heard him approach, which always impressed her no matter how many times it happened considering his size. He didn't always do it on purpose like everyone thought either. Bane was the type of person who had to choose to make noise if he wanted to announce his arrival, otherwise he moved as silent as the grave. Life had taught him that and it had taught him well.

He was standing in her doorway and looked as if he were in a particularly cheerful mood. She wasn't sure whether he was waiting for permission to enter her domain or for her to simply acknowledge him but his expectation of something was clear.

"I am tired," she admitted.

Bane took that as his cue and his boots thudded on the ground as he walked in. Intimidation. Adenrele regarded him, judging, weighing what he might say, what might happen; she had been expecting a visit of sorts… just not from Bane. She thought he had made his point.

He walked over to the chair next to her simple makeshift cot, invading her space. There were three other cots in the room, small but suitable for grabbing some quick sleep. She shared the room with some of her sisters, but they each had their own space and none of them trespassed without express permission. Except for Bane.

The metal chair creaked under his weight, but he paid it no mind. "How was your patrol?"

She knew which patrol he was asking about. That night she had gotten back in the early hours of the morning and went straight to bed. She had been hoping that sleep would help, but it hadn't. At least not much. And she hadn't seen Barsad since and wasn't sure when she was going to either, which was odd. It wasn't like him to hide, no matter what he'd done. She'd seen him kill before and she'd killed before. She just didn't enjoy it when it involved kids. Adults, she wouldn't blink before pulling the trigger… but a child—even a teenage one, was harder. For her, at least.

"I am sure you know how my patrol went. It would serve no purpose for me to tell you what you already know." Adenrele didn't look directly at Bane as she spoke. The more time that had passed since that night, the more guilt set in. She had made a scene in front of the others and despite her dislike of the situation and she and Barsad's friendship, it was completely unacceptable. Though she suspected there was something more than chewing her out for disrespecting a commanding officer to this visit.

Bane did everything with a purpose.

The mask hissed and his voice was light and airy. "You have grown quiet over these last months and I merely was concerned." When he spoke he sounded like a worried father. She leveled her gaze on him and she could suddenly see crow's feet appear around the edges of his eyes. Those were happy wrinkles. He was _smiling_ at her. "It is my belief that you needed to be reminded of why you are here. And of what happens to those who betray us."

Somehow she had expected this. The message he sent her was obvious enough. Still, she felt herself get riled up.

"You doubt my loyalty, now—to you_?_"

"Not to me," Bane assured her and reached over to give her a heavy pat on the arm. His hand stayed on her arm longer than necessary. "To the plan. Despite your training, you still fear death and fear is a powerful agent. It can cause sensible people—_loyal_ people to act unreasonable. I was merely securing your place in this new world."

Adenrele felt herself shut down, like the slow powering off a machine that had been running too long. Her way of survival was not to block everyone out, it was to block herself out. If no one could see what she was thinking, then she could think whatever she wanted and not pay for it. It was safety.

And so, yes, she thought this plan was madness. But to betray the plan would be to betray Bane; they were nearly the same entity. And if she did betray them, that would have been an even greater form of madness and not one that she planned to take part in. She might hate him at times—as they all did, but she loved him as well. The two feelings intermingled as they often did. He saved her. He was cruelty and kindness, he was danger and safety. He was both and more. Adenrele had never known someone who would provide the kind of protection that Bane did. Because he taught her how to protect herself and that was invaluable. She owed him her life.

Maybe he needed the reminding.

"My place was secured the moment you took me out of Freetown. We both know that I would have been dead the following morning if you hadn't. I said yes to your offer with the full understanding of what my acceptance meant. I do not regret my choice. I am loyal, Bane."

There was a heartbeat of silence between the two of them.

"That was many years ago."

"Yes. But I haven't forgotten." _I dream about it nearly every night_ was her unspoken thought.

"People can change."

She felt iron settle in her tone. "I don't."

"No, you haven't." Bane chuckled and looked somewhat pleased. She didn't feel so relieved though. He dropped his grip on her arm and stood up suddenly. He turned towards the door making sure the sound of his steps could be heard. She watched him go, but before he left he twisted around one last time. "Don't let your fear get the best of you, Adenrele. You are above it." She nodded, closing herself down further. The crow's feet suddenly appeared again and he was smiling once more. "And the next time you cause me to question your loyalties—whatever the reason; I will skip the lesson and strangle you myself."

* * *

**AN:** Regarding Jamie and Blake's discussion concerning God, I do not mean to offend anyone with this story. Whether you believe in God or not, I want you to know one thing: anything said about God will be said from the direct opinion of the characters themselves. This is not the author enforcing her own glorious theology of life on anyone (and if I wanted to do that anyway, why in the _world_ would I choose Fanfiction of all places?!). And this is based off of Joan of Arc, and she was pretty extreme. So this is a fun—not meant to be taken extremely seriously—story with a twist on a historical and heroic real life. I just wanted to make that clear so no one got upset :)

Now that _that's_ over… This chapter as a whole was pretty important. Lots of things happened, even if there wasn't much actual action. And I officially have pretty much every detail of this plot planned out and, you know, that is such a fun feeling. It makes you feel a little bit like a genius when you finally get it, or a criminal mastermind.

Thanks for the reviews and the alerts and favs and all that jazz. You guys are beautimous (made up word, just for you) and keep this little author bouncing around her house anxious to write.

Until next chapter, toodles!

LIP


	5. Wildcard

**Disclaimer** – I do not own the Batman universe or any of the canon characters. I do, however, own this plot and my OC's... can I just make this the disclaimer for **ALL** chapters of this story? 'Kay. Doin' it. It's done. _TA-DA!_ (Don't worry, that wasn't a pencil trick... this is called the Disclaimer trick. I'm making it disappear!)

* * *

**_One Life_**** by TheNotoriousLIP **

* * *

**Chapter Four: Wildcard **

"I don't think he likes me very much."

The words were out of her mouth the instant she closed the door. Her mother, standing behind her, raised an eyebrow and it was all Jamie could do to not fall back against the wall and slide down to the ground and never move again. She just, she didn't quite know what to do with herself. She didn't know if this kind of situation called for elated screaming or more panicking. Maybe she could do both at the same time?

"You're different, baby girl," her mother's voice brought her back down to earth. Which was a good thing, because Jamie was pretty sure she had just been swirling around in the galaxies and it was easy to get lost out there. "People are always afraid of what's different."

Different. Jamie laughed, and then once she started, she couldn't stop. It was certainly one way to describe her. But maybe 'different' was what brought Detective John Blake back knocking on her door after she was certain she was never going to see him again? She wasn't so sure it was, but whatever brought him back, she was glad it did. For the past five days she had been in near despair and now suddenly, like flicking a light switch in a dark room, she was going to be meeting with the police Commissioner. Jim freaking Gordon.

Jamie would be lying to say that she wasn't at least a little bit giddy about that.

Only after Blake left did Jamie even think to ask him why he had changed his mind, but maybe it was good that she hadn't. He hadn't seemed much in the mood for conversation anyway. He merely told her to be ready to meet with the Commissioner tomorrow morning at nine, if she was still in.

Of course she was still in.

Jim _freaking_ Gordon.

"So are you going to tell me what this is all about, or am I just going to have to read about it in the papers?" The nineteen year old looked up at her mother from her place on the ground, still grinning from ear to ear. _Huh_, she must have actually slid down at some point… "_Jamie Marie_."

The middle name was the catch and she grinned sheepishly at her mother. Marie Delacroix crossed her arms over her chest and waited. She was one of those people who commanded a response from anyone and everyone that crossed her path. More often than not she didn't even need to open her mouth to ask a question before people started spilling their deepest, darkest secrets. It wasn't because she was mean looking, or even that she had a reputation of being a bad person. It was something in her eyes, a certain look that convinced you that she already knew everything you had ever done in your life and it was just better to get it all out instead of allowing it to continue to poison you.

Jamie called this "trust".

"Hey mom?" she said suddenly, feeling a lot brighter than she had in a long time. No, she felt as freaking high as a _kite_. "We should probably head to the store, the relief trucks should be there by now and if we don't get in line soon we'll miss out on the good stuff. And we really need some things… like food."

Marie watched her daughter carefully and then she seemed to understand. Nodding, she turned and went up the stairs talking the whole way. "Let me go tell Jaclyn to come lock the doors behind us. Get your coat Jamie, and put on some better shoes or you'll freeze."

"Yes, mother," Jamie snickered but did as she was told.

Marie came down a few minutes later with a grumpy looking Jaclyn following close behind. Jamie beamed at the sight of her little-big sister ruffled up just out of bed and all angry. It was pretty cute. She went over and got up on her toes in an attempt to squash her in a hug. Jaclyn tensed, not being the biggest fan of physical touch, and then relented understanding that Jamie wasn't going to let go until she returned some sort of affectionate response. Jaclyn settled with an awkward patting on Jamie's back.

"Be good." Jamie let go and waggled her finger. Jaclyn gave her a flat stare, her voice raspy from sleep.

"What happened to you?"

Jamie beamed, ridiculously. "Something beautiful."

"You ate some more lead paint?"

"And it tasted delicious."

"Jaclyn," Marie cut in with her no-nonsense voice, knowing where this conversation would quickly head. She was buttoning up her coat and tossed a beanie to Jamie who caught it with a grin. "Bolt the door and don't you dare—"

"—open it for anyone but you," Jaclyn crossed her arms and yawned big and loud. "Yeah, yeah, and I remember where the gun is. Go."

"She's so delightful in the morning, isn't she?" Jamie grinned and the youngest Delacroix rolled her eyes and motioned impatiently with her hands, shooing both of them away.

Jamie all but hopped out of the door and it slammed quickly behind them. Mother and daughter stood and waited for the three distinct clicks that would indicate that Jaclyn had in fact dead bolted every possible lock they had on the front door. The moment they heard it, they were off.

It was cold and every day it was getting colder. Jamie tugged her red beanie over her ears so that it covered her short brown hair almost entirely. She had chopped it soon after Bane's arrival, much to her mother's despair. But for Jamie, it was better this way. Anything to help her look less like the woman she was these days was ideal in keeping away Gotham's trash. Especially with how much time she had been spending on the streets.

Marie, however, remained the same woman that she had always been. She still wore make-up, did her hair, and looked as though she was going to a fancy restaurant instead of the grocery store. But she had been like that for years and the Colt Defender semi-automatic pistol she kept on her at all times was usually enough to discourage anyone who tried to mess with her. She had it before the coming of Bane and since his coming Jamie had learned firsthand that Marie Delacroix was an excellent shot.

As they began their walk, Jamie caught sight of their neighbor, Gary Ward, looking around in all directions as he slunk out of his home. She waved at him and he merely took in the two women and then went on his way. Jamie frowned. There had once been a time that they couldn't get him to shut up, but from the fast pace he had chosen, he must have simply wanted to get his food and get back to the safety of his home.

It was interesting the difference in the people of Gotham when a new supply of food was trucked in. They all came out of their holes for a brief time, all nerves and jitters looking every which way, and then fled back to their homes as fast as they could. Jamie was glad though, to see more human life, even if it refused to wave back at her.

"So, we're out of the house. Spill."

Jamie glanced at her mother and shrugged a little preparing herself for the berating she was about to receive, "You already know most of it."

"I know you met with that cop the other day. I know something happened five days ago that made you more depressed than I've seen you in years," Marie said and then she cast a side glance at her daughter and Jamie saw a good amount of anger there. "I know you have been sneaking around these past few weeks doing God knows what in this city and it has given me six new grey hairs."

"Only six?" Jamie quipped but Marie did not find it so funny.

"Stop it," she said viciously and Jamie blanched. "Jamie, Gotham is being held hostage by a terrorist with a nuclear bomb, we have mobs and gangs of rapists wandering the streets and you expect me to _smile_ and _laugh_ about you being out there, too? I like to laugh with the best of them, but baby girl, this is getting hard for me."

Ducking her head, Jamie felt thoroughly ashamed. "Sorry. I just… I don't want you to worry. And I know you don't like to hear about this kind of stuff, but like I told you the first day: I am just doing what God tells me to do. I can't ignore Him and I think this is the whole reason why I've been hearing the voice in the first place. There is something that I have to do and maybe if I do it, it will go away. I mean, that's what you ultimately want, right?" Jamie didn't need to look over to hear her mother's sigh.

"Can you just promise me something?" Marie began and there was something in her voice that Jamie had never heard before. "Please, whatever you do—don't get yourself killed."

Automatically there was an easy reassurance on the tip of her tongue, but Jamie caught herself. After the Courthouse incident, she honestly wasn't sure she could make that promise. Hesitating, she wrapped an arm around her mother's waist as they walked, her voice very, very small, "I'll try not to, momma."

They fell quiet and Marie wrapped her arm around Jamie's shoulders and they walked like that the rest of the way to the grocery store, careful to match their steps so that they wouldn't break apart. When they finally got there, there was already a significant line formed and the two merely went to the very end and waited their turn.

Neither one seemed to want to let the other go.

"Part of me wants to lock you in the house, tie you up, and hold you under gun point," Marie voiced what they were both feeling, but in a weird and scary sort of way Jamie thought. "But you know, it took me three pairs of ballet slippers in the bathtub, a flute in the tree, and a baseball bat in the washing machine to finally realize that you were going to be the stubborn child. You were never going to be taught what you didn't want to learn. But please, Jamie, for me, be careful. This isn't like the other times."

"I am." She said right away and then added, "I'm trying my best."

"Okay." Marie nodded more to herself than anything as they slowly started scooting up in the line. The National Emergency Relief teams were quickly unpacking the food and there were about four mercenaries hanging around the entrance of the store watching every move the teams made. Marie and Jamie stared at them and then Marie's arm tightened around her daughter's shoulders. "Just remember this: you are an adult, I understand that. You are doing what you believe, I understand that too. But you are also still my child, no matter how old you get."

"I know. I'm just… I'm just doing the only thing I know to do. And half of the time I don't even know what that is, but I do it anyway." Jamie grew distracted as she watched the line move and the mercenaries with their guns.

"No wonder he doesn't like you," Marie's voice made Jamie jump and she looked up in confusion as her mother began to smile. It was small and looked a little forced. "You probably confuse him."

"Who?"

"That detective."

"Oh," Jamie frowned at the thought. "Him. Yeah. Maybe. I don't know."

Marie watched her daughter and then the smile became real and even bigger. Jamie had a sinking feeling in her gut. She knew that look. "He's cute."

"Yep," Jamie popped the 'p' and tried to ignore the all too obvious vibes her mother was suddenly trying to send. If John Blake was coming to her doorstep tomorrow, Jamie figured it was best to kill her dreams of grandchildren now before she really got going. "And you know what? He thinks I'm totally off my rocker."

"How do you know? Has he told you?" Marie asked and then realization struck her. "Wait, you told him about—?"

"Yes, I told him," Jamie said, exasperated. "It was kind of a prerequisite for convincing him that I could actually help. And yes he has said many times that he thinks I'm crazy." A thought then came to Jamie and she grinned. Evasion and distraction was a fabulous technique to use on Marie Delacroix, because it worked every time. "Hey, I'll tell you this one thing, but you can't tell anyone else."

Her mother looked intrigued; she had always loved secrets. "What?"

"I'm meeting with the Commissioner."

"_What!_" Marie nearly shouted and Jamie's hand shot up and covered her mother's mouth shushing her and sending a pointed look to the armed people in camouflage just ahead. When her mother spoke next, she made an effort to keep her voice down. "You're meeting Jim Gordon, as in, _Jim Gordon_?"

"Yep."

Marie blinked, blinked again and then suddenly stepped back and looked straight ahead of her with a naughty smile on her face. "He's an attractive man."

"You think every man is attractive," Jamie rolled her eyes and stepped forward another inch in line.

"Not every," Marie protested in honesty. She leaned down next to her daughter's ear and whispered, "And the detective _is_ cute, but Jim Gordon is a babe."

"Ew."

"Maybe you could give him my number?"

For the first time in far too long, Jamie threw her head back and laughed. It was deep and beautiful and powerful and it filled her all the way to her fingertips until she thought she was going to burst like an over flooded water balloon. She didn't care how crazy it made her look to the rest of Gotham, it felt so _good_. Marie was laughing with her, softer and more ladylike than her daughter's guffawing, and after those around them got over the immediate fright, a few of them had smiles as well.

When they got up to the entrance of the store, Jamie was still shaking with the occasional giggle, but it had mostly died down. The mercenaries had pinpointed her as the resident loon from their expressions. Marie sent them a small smile that held more than a trace of bitterness as she and Jamie were ushered inside. They went through the aisles quickly, not wanting to test anyone's patience by taking too much time.

It was funny, almost, how this would have been a normal day in any other situation. One where Jamie and her mother went on a quick trip to the store because they were out of milk and Jaclyn would get moody if she didn't get to eat her Lucky Charms. But it wasn't a normal day. Because there was no real milk to get, just canned (Marie had a hard time when she saw that and Jamie was the one to move them onto the next shelf), there were no Lucky Charms for Jaclyn to rot her teeth with, and the grocery store had a line down the street as citizens of Gotham waited for their pick of basic foods that would keep them fed and alive.

Not happy. But alive.

Jamie was able to grab a week's worth of premade meals, a loaf of bread, some cans of soup, packages of instant noddles, canned vegetables and fruit, toilet paper, a jar peanut butter, and other basic necessities. It wasn't much, and when her mother went up to the counter to ask if they had any meat come in, Jamie began wandering up and down the last two aisles, her eyes browsing for anything else they might need.

A flash of bright red caught her eye and Jamie almost walked right by it. Tomatoes. Real tomatoes. And they weren't even _canned_.

She thought she was dreaming for a moment as she stared at them. Then the reality hit her and she all but snatched them up and placed them in the cart, turning and going to the counter where her mother was arguing with the clerk. Jamie came up alongside her and held the tomatoes out for her to see with a little bit of a wild grin. Apparently there was no meat today, but there were _tomatoes_. Marie was even able to wrangle out some spaghetti noodles out of the store clerk and Jamie felt her stomach growl at the thought of spaghetti. She was a pasta fiend.

They recorded all of the food they took and the number of members in their home in a well-used book by the register before the store clerk bagged it all up. It was going to suck carrying this home, but at least there were two people to share the burden. Jamie felt light as she gathered the bags, she laughed at something her mother said and then turned towards the door to leave only to see Bane enter at that exact moment.

She thought her heart exploded, but unlike the day in court, this time Jamie didn't freeze. No, this time she ran.

There was an aisle separating them and he was tall enough to see over it, but Jamie moved the instant she saw him and ducked down to the ground behind it. She pressed her back against the shelves, mouth open in silent terror as she tried to get oxygen into her lungs. It wouldn't come, no matter how hard she tried. A heavy _thud, thud, thud_ came from his combat boots as he walked right by her, just on the other side of the aisle. Jamie trembled then, a terrible thing that shook all the way down to her feet, just as she had after the Courthouse.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block this all out, and only then did she remember that her mother was still at the counter.

Jamie's eyes flashed open but she stayed down, having no idea what to do. Finally, able to breath, Jamie brought her hand to her mouth and bit down to keep herself quiet. Surely Bane would recognize her if she showed her face, but her mom… her mom who was now turning around and almost instantaneously letting out a soundless gasp.

Bane was an intimidating figure as he came around to the counter, hands grasping the lapel of his jacket. Jamie stared at his back, tall and, strong wasn't even the right word—_massive_. She couldn't even see her mother beyond his hulking body. Jamie was shaking again, now wishing that she couldn't breathe like before because she was being too loud. And just at that moment, a tomato—a precious tomato decided to fall out of her bag and onto the floor shifting the plastic just enough to make a noise.

Jamie grabbed it instantly, pulling it back and wondering for a moment if he were to turn around how long she could buy herself if she threw the tomato at his face. If she aimed well enough, she might be able to block his vision and surprise him—if only for a moment.

At the sound, Bane started to turn around and Jamie gripped the tomato and felt her eyes go wide in absolute terror. And then, there was a crash. Jamie flinched as she saw groceries roll out around Bane's feet and then heard her mother's voice.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry. I just… you—you scared me and I didn't hear you. I'm sorry. Wow—you are _really_ tall—sorry," she bent down to start picking her things up, her voice loud and nervous and she just kept going. In the brief moment their eyes connected as her mother kneeled down, Jamie knew that Marie Delacroix had dropped the bags on purpose.

Maybe crazy ran in the family.

Jamie put a shaking finger to her lips and started to move, slowly and as carefully and quietly as she possibly could while her mother continued to babble to _Bane_ of all people. She wasn't sure what shocked her more, the fact that her mother continued to talk nonsense to Gotham's resident warlord, or that Bane actually _chuckled_ at one point and bent down to hand her a can of soup.

"Perhaps next time you should acquire help carrying these to your home." His voice was amiable and nothing like what Jamie, or by the looks of it, Marie expected. He held a can of soup out to her and Marie looked at it as if it were a hand grenade. She then cautiously took it and then gave him a very small unsure smile.

"If I could get my youngest out of bed before all of the food disappeared, I would. But I think she's been relishing in this break from school a little too much," Marie laughed and it was forced and sounded like she was out of breath.

Bane didn't comment on her nerves, he seemed more amused by this babbling woman than anything else. "A break from schooling is no reason to leave one's mother to do all of the work."

"If only she heard that from you and not me, it might be more effective." Marie squeezed her eyes shut as the words flew out of her mouth and she stuffed the loaf of bread into the last bag. Jamie was half way down the aisle, having left her own bags behind otherwise the noise would have given her away.

"It is a good thing that I am not visiting every unruly child in Gotham, otherwise, I would be very busy." There was another chuckle from Bane, sounding so mechanical through his mask and Jamie shook her head at the sound as it echoed in her ears.

Finally at the end of the aisle, she cast one last glance to her mother who had moved just a few inches to Bane's right so that she could keep an eye on her daughter. Jamie nodded to her and when she finally moved out of sight, she heard Marie's breathless laugh again. "Well, this has been… interesting. But if you'll excuse me, I need to get back home."

Jamie didn't know what happened next, because she was outside and running down past the line of people. She sucked in cold air, as much of it as she could in the desperate hope that it might wake her up and she would find out that this was just some really bad, really weird dream.

But no matter how much cold air she breathed, Jamie never woke up.

* * *

Fear was an interesting thing.

It manifested itself in people in such different ways. Some fought for their lives spewing out threats and promises of rage and death, others merely froze in shock unable to even function, and still others ran without realizing that their running would only secure their fate. But then, Bane thought, there were those unusual ones; like this woman. She babbled incessantly and if he did not find it so amusing, he might have simply put her out of her misery. But she had a young daughter, and he did not want to deprive the child of her mother in a time like this.

Gotham would be able to do that without his assistance.

He watched the rattled woman leave, bobbing around like a fly trapped against a window that could see the outside world beckoning it and was convinced it could escape. Only a fly would repeatedly ram itself into the glass until it died. And Bane supposed this woman would be very much the same as that fly. She would see the hope and promise of freedom, but would never be able to break through the impossible barrier.

When she was finally out of sight, Bane turned to the young man behind the counter. He had the look of the type whose fear rendered them immobile. His gaze flashed down to Bane's mask and then back to his eyes. Bane merely took two steps forward, enough to ensure that he towered over this poor Gothamite with only a counter resting between them.

"Are you aware of why I have come?" The mask rasped even as Bane's voice was quiet.

"N—no."

"There have been reports of certain places, much like this store, that have been harboring fugitive police."

The young man's eyes went wide and he shook his head ferociously. "There aren't any here."

"Oh, I am well aware of that. But I need someone with whom I could set an example," Bane reached forward with a smile. His hand encompassed the boy's throat entirely making his neck nearly disappear altogether. Only then—at the end—did the boy try to move, his hands gripping Bane's in a desperate effort to pry it off. Bane felt mildly disgusted. "The people of this city have yet to learn that fighting back, no matter how weak their attempt, will only bring more bloodshed. And so your death will do."

Bane gave one simple squeeze and it was done.

* * *

"_MOM!_ What in the world was that?"

Marie Delacroix jumped about a foot in the air as she nearly ran into her daughter around the corner, which was saying a lot considering that she was weighed down with bag after bag of food. Jamie right away took the bags that she had originally been carrying, thankful that her mother had managed to pick them up in her hurry to escape.

"I mean, I knew you could talk your way out of any parking ticket, but I had no idea that you could befriend terrorists so easily." They finally both had good grips on their groceries and Marie took off without a word and at a near sprint. Jamie had to run to catch up with her.

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know—just run," Marie was muttering and completely panicking, her feet moving quickly over the snow. "Just get home, we need to go—now! Oh my God, I think he called me attractive."

"He _what_?!"

"Don't ask, just run!"

"You—you were joking around with—with—!" Jamie had a hysterical feeling that was stuck between laughing or crying and yet she couldn't bring herself to do either one.

"Oh my God. I accepted help from that madman. Was I complimenting him on his reign of terror? What is wrong with me?"

"Complaining about Jaclyn does not register as a compliment, I don't think," Jamie thought about it, now that they were out of danger (mostly) and free, she remembered more of the conversation. "Wait, did Bane _chide_ her for sleeping in?"

"I am not recognizing or answering that question," her mother glared as best as she could while looking utterly terrified. It wasn't entirely successful. They kept going at their near sprint speed the entire way home and both women let out a heaving sigh of relief when they reached their front door. Marie set down her bags and was just about to knock when she paused, hand hovering and turned to look seriously at her daughter. "Jamie," her voice was cautious and very afraid. "Is there something going on that I don't know? Something more than just the voice? A particular reason why you hid from him? I mean, have you run into trouble—with him—before?"

Jamie stared at her mother feeling herself shut down as her face became unreadable. "Come on, let's go inside."

* * *

Tense was one way to describe the walk to Francisco's grocery the following morning. It had Jamie wondering if the man beside her had decided to take a vow of silence since they last met. Or maybe he was just as nervous as she was.

She was about to meet a man she had idolized since she was a young girl. The police Commissioner was a war hero, a steady constant in the midst of chaos for the city of Gotham. He faced down the Joker, he worked with the Batman, he was… he was Jim _freaking_ Gordon. Jamie smiled feeling her blood buzz at the thought of shaking hands with him, let alone talking with him and possibly being able to work with him somehow. It was a little childish, but in the small moments the nervousness would fade, she felt a jolt and the sudden urge to leap in the air and kick her feet together in triumph.

Thankfully, she restrained herself.

John Blake, however, didn't seem to feel anything at all. The nineteen year old found herself watching him and frowning. He was so closed off, even more so than all of the other times she had spoken to him. It bothered her, but then again she didn't really think she had a right to comment on his mood; because without him none of this would have happened in the first place.

"Thank you," Jamie said suddenly, needing to break the wall of ice forming between the two of them. Blake looked at her and she added, "For giving me a chance."

The detective didn't say anything at first and turned his gaze back to the street, his face hard. Then finally, "I'm not making any promises that the Commissioner will go for this."

"I understand. But I still wanted to let you know that I was grateful. You're taking a risk with me, I know that and I appreciate it."

Silence overtook them once more and thankfully it didn't take much longer to get to Francisco's. It was a small place and Blake seemed to know it well leaving Jamie to follow in his lead as he escorted her to the large freezer. Blake pushed through the double doors and Jamie was small enough that she didn't see anything but the back of Blake at first. Then he moved to the side and as he did there was one lone figure revealed and when Jamie saw him, she tapped her fingers against her leg and tried to remain as professional as she possibly could.

"Miss Delacroix, I've heard some interesting things about you."

Jim Gordon might have been on the run, but he still wore a suit and tie like he was on the job. He stood in the back center of the room, awaiting their arrival with a cup of coffee in his hands and Jamie naturally rocked onto the tip of her toes and back on her heels as she took him in. She paused a moment, just staring, until the gaze of both the Commissioner and Blake became too much and she snapped back into reality. Jamie shook her head and walked forward, looking more calm and confident than she felt with the energy pulsating just beneath her skin.

"Nice to meet you, Commissioner."

He took her offered hand and shook it with an easy smile. "Gordon."

"And you can call me Jamie."

Blake shifted out of the corner of her eye and Jamie glanced over at him. His face was perfectly blank, no expression, but also no warmth. Jamie found herself frowning at him yet again.

"Would you like some coffee?" Gordon called her back to face him and she scrunched up her nose and shook her head at the cup he held out to her. Gordon chuckled and then leaned back against the counter behind him looking completely at ease. It was a very practiced look. "Alright then, we'll get right to it. Detective Blake here has given me the basics, but I would like to ask you some questions myself. Is that okay?"

Jamie nodded and despite the fact that she had expected this, a sinking feeling came over her. She found herself wondering what exactly Blake had told the Commissioner. But neither man seemed to be giving much away as to their thoughts and she was left only with her nerves.

Gordon began with the basics, even though he said that Blake had already given him the information. He asked her full name, age, where she lived, and much of the same things that she had already answered. But for some reason, this felt like even more of an interrogation than her previous experience with Blake. Maybe that was because answering questions from the police Commissioner was like talking to a human lie detector. His eyes never left her, they catalogued her every movement (and probably her speech pattern, too). She knew he was aware of her nervous ticks and would always question further on a subject that she had the slightest hesitation on.

It was exhausting.

When he got to the Courthouse incident, Jamie felt her brows rise. Blake must have shared more than just the basics. She was tempted to look at the detective, but could not bring herself to break away under the stare of the Commissioner. So she told him everything, she pulled out her notepad thankful she had rewritten the pages so that they were clear, organized, and readable. Gordon took it, looked over it and asked more questions which she answered as best as she could. Jamie squeezed out every drop of information she could for the man in front of her.

Everything but Bane. Jamie kept that strictly to herself. She wasn't entirely sure why, except that maybe it was something to do with the terror he had struck in her and her consequent breakdown afterwards. It kept her silent, like duct tape.

But the thing about duct tape was that the longer it was on, the more painful it would be to rip off later.

Finally, after what seemed hours, Gordon seemed to be slowing down and Jamie felt she was nearly out of breath. She relaxed visibly and the Commissioner seemed to be waiting for her to put her guard down. He tipped his cup back finishing off what was meant to originally be her cup of coffee and then set it down next to him and went in for the kill.

"It's difficult to imagine how a nineteen year old girl with no training whatsoever is able to know what you know, no matter how much you can get by 'unnoticed'," he paused here and Jamie knew what was coming. "Care to share your secret?"

She couldn't help herself this time as she looked over to Blake, but he wasn't helpful. She wondered how it was he kept his face so perfectly blank as he stared back at her. Jamie guessed that he must not have told the Commissioner the big reveal and left it up to her like she had suggested. A very small part of her was annoyed that he hadn't had the guts to tell his boss the truth. But she shoved that aside and focused on the fact that it was now her job to do.

Having already chosen to be brave with one of the men in this room, Jamie thought it might have been easier this time around. But it wasn't. It wasn't because this was her hero and there would be something terribly sad about your hero thinking you were absolutely nuts. Still, he was waiting for her answer and Jamie knew he was making all kinds of judgments from her hesitation already.

Biting her lip, Jamie forced the words out rapidly; like the sudden choice one makes when jumping off of a plane knowing full well that they had a parachute and were going to be safe. Yet, that knowledge didn't make the person any less terrified by the thought of the sudden fall awaiting them. "I didn't figure all of it out myself. I had help."

"From who?"

"God."

This time, it was his turn to hesitate. Jamie watched him and he watched her back. She decided then that he was good at this interrogation thing.

"God," Gordon repeated slowly and finally.

"Yes."

"God told you… about the food drops, the location of our meetings, and to go into the courthouse and spy on Bane's mercenaries?"

"No," Jamie corrected him and the Commissioner raised an eyebrow in question. "That last one I chose to do on my own. I was out of ideas, but when I was there, God spoke to me and He showed me the hole in their defenses. It was the perfect timing."

"I am sure it was."

She looked at him closely. "You don't believe me."

"A lot of things are hard to believe these days."

"You believe in the Batman," she countered.

There was a long pause and Jamie saw pain flash through the Commissioner's face. He looked down for the first time, his glasses obscuring any clear view she might have of his eyes. "Yes."

"Do you believe he's dead?"

"I don't know," Gordon admitted his voice sounding withdrawn and quiet for the first time since they met. "Do you?"

"He's still alive."

That got his attention and Gordon leaned forward, hope sparking in his eyes. "Do you know this… for certain?"

"Yes. I can feel it," at his scoff, Jamie pursed her lips and pressed on feeling herself start to burn. "If he were dead, don't you think Bane would have flaunted his body to the masses? But he hasn't. The Batman is alive, I know it, and I think Bane is keeping him somewhere. He's keeping him somewhere he can't escape or else you know he would never leave Gotham like this."

"He was gone for eight years."

"And you know exactly why he left too, don't you?" It was an ugly, ugly truth. After Bane's speech at the release of Blackgate prison, they all knew about it. But there was something more, there had to be more than the information Bane had. Something had to have happened, and Gordon was there. He knew.

Jamie was aware that she was pushing certain buttons, most likely dangerous ones; especially when Gordon's voice slid into something harsh and unrelenting. There was anger and malice and it made Jamie want to take a step back when he spoke. "What was done was necessary."

"I know," she told him and Gordon gave her a very serious look. "Batman had to be something more for Gotham and now we have to take his place. He isn't here, someone has to step up. You knew the Batman; I think you were maybe friends with him. Do you think one day you might have the guts to do what he would have done were he here?"

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Jamie wondered if she had gone too far. But that was the problem when you burned for something; fire was no respecter of person, place, or thing. It burned everything.

"You really believe you can help, don't you?" Gordon carefully chose to ignore the jab and the question was like adding gasoline to her body. This time, Jamie didn't choose to stop her heart from jumping out of her mouth. For all she cared Gordon could look at it, examine it as it lay before them bleeding and beating covering them with blood and fire. It was messy and it was truth and it was everything that Jamie was in five small words.

"I believe we can win."

There wasn't much to be said after that and there was a hush that fell over them; or there would be if they could ignore the steady beating of her heart pumping out its blood refusing to be silent. They had reached a stalemate; Jamie knew it and she was pretty sure that Gordon knew it, too. She could still felt the flames within her, coursing through her veins, but they had nowhere to go now. She rocked onto her toes and back on her heels out of habit.

Gordon waited and then he sighed something tired and old and Jamie knew what was going to happen instantly. She tried to keep her disappointment from showing as Gordon removed his glasses and wiped them on his shirt before replacing them. "You have a good heart, kid."

"But you're not going to accept my help." She said and it was a bitter, bitter thing.

Gordon laughed suddenly and Jamie's eyes shot up. "Of course I am."

If she could have fainted on command like those girls in romantic movies, she would have done it right then and there.

"What—_really?!_"

The Commissioner was grinning at her, but it didn't last for long. "You will report to Detective Blake and he will determine what information is valid and valuable. If the situation calls for it, you will report to me. But if you pull any more stunts like the Courthouse, I can't and won't be responsible for you or your safety. We are fighting a losing battle; you will be doing all of this at your own risk."

Jamie felt like his voice was echoing in her head and she could hardly make out his words, but she was nodding like an idiot anyway.

"I understand, thank you!" She grinned crazily and then before she could stop herself, she ran forward and hugged the Commissioner. He let out a surprised grunt and then chuckled again and patted her on the back before Jamie's wrenched herself away, eyes wide and her mouth dropped open absolutely horrified at what she had done. Well, partially horrified. Part of her couldn't believe she got to hug Jim Gordon.

Jim _freaking_ Gordon.

* * *

They had worked out the rest of the details fairly quickly and it wasn't long before Gordon sent the girl on her way declaring that he needed to speak with Detective Blake. She all but ran out of the room and Gordon shook his head as he watched her go.

"Rookie, if she screws up it's going to be on your head," he turned to the young detective and Blake's expression was as serious as it was when he first brought her in.

"I know."

Gordon sighed and wondered at what kind of desperation he was stooping to that he was recruiting teenage girls for reconnaissance. It would be hysterical if they weren't under threat of a nuclear bomb and nearly all of his police force was trapped underground barely surviving day by day. It would be hysterical if her information wasn't disturbingly correct, or if Blake hadn't come to him vouching for her name and putting his own at risk at the same time.

"Keep an eye on her," Gordon finally said. "Keep in contact with her, give her the rundown on how we do things… and make sure she doesn't get herself killed."

Blake nodded and Gordon felt like laughing. He probably would have if he weren't so tired.

"What convinced you, Commissioner?"

"I'm not," Gordon admitted. "Right now I am following your lead and trusting my instincts, rookie. You said we could trust her, you said she was a good source. We are in a delicate situation here and if you haven't noticed, we are quickly running out of ideas. Sometimes a wildcard is just what you need."

* * *

**AN:** *twirls happily* I had a good laugh writing out the scene with Jamie and her mom's reaction to Bane. They're fun and I love it when the characters take over and basically destroy what plot you had for the chapter.

_FUN FACT_: I was in the middle of writing the scene where Jamie was on the other side of the aisle and Bane was walking in and I had a sudden thought… THIS IS JUST LIKE JURASSIC PARK! You know, the raptors in the kitchen scene. Except Bane isn't a dinosaur. And of course then my mind went into a full on tangent of Bane-o-saurus and how funny his roar would sound. Good times.

Thanks to all the lovely reviewers, followers, favoriters, mysterious readers, and the like!

Until next chapter, toodles!

LIP


	6. A Startling Melody

**_One Life_**** by TheNotoriousLIP **

* * *

**Chapter Five: A Startling Melody**

The boy had been hanging there for two weeks. His body didn't carry the stench like it would have if it were the summer months; instead, he was frozen over—like a human icicle. His eyes were open, terrified and bulging, stuck forever in a mask of terror. His skin was a pale blue and covered in crystal-like frost as tiny snowflakes clung to him.

They would have taken him down long ago if it weren't for the sign dangling from his neck.

It had taken every bit of strength that Jamie had not to throw up when she saw him. She hadn't even thought to question what Bane was doing in the grocery store the day she had panicked and ran, she had been too focused on simply getting as far away from him as she could; but now she understood. Now it was clear. For all of his cordial—and terrifying—talk with her mother, Bane had been there to send a message.

_Commissioner - the more you run, the more I will kill. Stop the slaughter and turn yourself in._

She probably shouldn't have stood there and stared at the sign as long as she did, but a very real horror had coiled its way up her body making her stupid and immobile. It was like stepping in quicksand; you never really saw it coming and then one careless step and you just… fell.

"Jamie, come on," a whispered insistence; a hand curling around her elbow tugging and urgent. "We can't stay here too long."

There was a moment, one single, flaming moment when she finally did turn away that Jamie hated herself more than she hated Bane for doing this. She had heard the whispered rumors of the hanging for the last two weeks, she even saw the body at a distance, but this was the first day that Jamie had worked up the courage to go and see him up close. It didn't make her feel very courageous though, especially when she and Blake left the boy there to rot. They couldn't risk cutting him down; Jamie knew that and so she didn't ask.

She hated the fact that she didn't even ask.

The news of the incident had sent what was left of the police into an even deeper hiding. Gordon was moved immediately to an undisclosed location and he hadn't been in any of the recent meetings. Neither had Jamie and not because they hadn't wanted her there. Marie Delacroix had heard about the hanging as well and had acted upon her previous threats and held her daughter captive for nearly a week, one of those days under gun point.

It was the first time in many years that Jamie and her mother truly fought. It was ugly and bitter and full of words that neither one really meant as they tried to make the other understand that they were simply protecting that which they loved.

Only after the death had been in the air long enough for them to grow used to its taste did Marie finally give up the endless battle. When she did, it had taken Jamie only thirty minutes to storm out of the house dousing her mother in hostile looks and angry silence. Jamie had walked, that first day back on the street, in the snow and stillness of Gotham until it soaked into her bones and made her teeth chatter. Hours later, on the cusp of darkness, she returned and gave her mother a hug. But she did not apologize and neither did Marie. They could not bring themselves to be sorry for loving something enough to fight for it.

"Hey, you okay?"

The question jolted her and Jamie realized that she had forgotten where she was for a moment. She felt a harsh frown mar her features and the concerned eyes of the detective on her. She tried to smooth it out and be more pleasant, but it was a difficult thing to do.

"I tried to tell you that we shouldn't have—" Blake began when she said nothing and Jamie clenched her jaw.

"I needed to see it," her voice was more biting than she had intended it to be. Jamie shook her head and corrected herself, "_Him_. I needed to see him."

They were quiet for a few minutes as they walked. The streets were as still as ever and Jamie got the sudden and insane urge to scream and yell and ask the buildings all around her where the people were—the good people who wouldn't let young men hang and go on doing nothing about it. She raged at the city around her even as her mouth stayed clamped shut.

Next to her, Blake looked uncomfortable and was obviously debating on saying something. Jamie sighed heavily. "I'm not going to bite your head off. I'm just… having a hard time with this. Sorry."

She expected him to say something. She wasn't sure what, maybe a practiced answer he was trained to give as a police officer, but definitely not what ended up coming out of his mouth. "I get it. The first time I saw a dead body, I blacked out." Jamie turned to look at him. "I was nine."

She wanted to ask further, but from the set of his shoulders she knew it wouldn't be a good idea. One thing she had learned quickly about Detective John Blake was that he might have been a good man, but there was an underlying tone of anger to everything he did and said. It wasn't rage, the kind of thing that was uncontrollable and tore its way out of a person when they least expected it. No, this was something deeper, something that he controlled and had a good grip on. This was practiced—the kind of emotion that you can't put to words because there are none for it. It made up who you were and it governed all of your decisions.

It was deep, not just in his blood but in his marrow.

Jamie personally found it more frightening than someone who struggled with rage. Not because it was more violent, but because it was something that he had to choose to keep; he knew it was there, fed it, and kept it alive. She didn't know what could make someone like this and Jamie figured that she may never know. She would have to be okay with that. The important thing, she supposed, was that no matter what was going on in his head, he continued to seek her out; like today. She took that as a good sign.

"This isn't the first time I've seen a dead person, you know." Jamie told him in a small voice.

"I know," Blake glanced at her quickly, his handsome face pinched as it often was when he was thinking too hard. "What I'm saying is that it isn't easy."

"How do you do it then?" She asked, suddenly needing to know. "As a cop, I mean, does it ever get… easier?"

There was a long pause and she thought he wasn't going to answer, and then he just shook his head lost in thought or memory, "No."

"Then why do you do it?"

"Do what? Be a cop?"

Jamie nodded and ducked her head against a sudden gust of icy wind.

"Honestly? I decided I wanted to be a cop when I was a kid because I thought it meant that I would get to work with the Batman," Blake admitted with a boyish grin and Jamie felt her own tiny smile stretch across her lips.

"Do you have a bromance going on with the Batman?"

Blake laughed. It was an abrupt sound, swift, hearty and catching; Jamie nearly tripped when she heard it. It was so foreign coming from him that she had to look over to make sure that it wasn't someone else's laugh.

"The Batman was a hero to me—to all of us," Jamie wasn't sure who 'all of us' was, but she guessed he meant his family. "But even when I got older, I always wanted to be a cop. It just seemed… right, I guess. It was how I could be good. And to me, it was the only way a world so messed up could make sense; protecting people and putting away the ones that deserve it." He paused here and the smile vanished. His voice changed and slid effortlessly into a mocking harshness. "It's stupid, I know; the Gotham Police Department isn't exactly known for its stand against crime, or for being good, given our history. But that was why I kept coming back—even after hard days. I keep thinking that maybe, one day, things will change and if I'm lucky I'll be there to see it. And if I'm really lucky, I'll be a part of that change… But then came Bane and this city went to hell and all of the people with it. Cop, teacher, lawyer, homeless; I don't care who they were. People changed after he came and not for the better."

Jamie wasn't quite sure what to say, to be honest. She kept her face carefully blank, not because she was shocked or didn't agree with him—she did. That was the problem. That was always the problem. She was so tired of what Gotham had become and to her it all boiled down to human nature.

And Bane.

Though he wasn't the one personally running around Gotham committing every crime, he was responsible for creating a world in which the bad people could be as bad as they wanted and the good people felt that they had no choice but to succumb. Or hide. Both were the same to Jamie.

Maybe she understood at least some of Blake's anger after all. For all of their differences, they had a lot in common.

"You want justice." Jamie said softly.

John Blake stared at her then, almost in surprise, or maybe relief that finally, _finally_ someone understood. But from the flames raging in his eyes, Jamie knew there was still more. This wasn't just a man who wanted simple justice because it was the right thing to want; no, he wanted oceans of it. John Blake wanted the kind of justice Gotham had never known.

It made her hope that one day she'd see it, too.

* * *

"So what are we doing? You said you wanted me to come out for a patrol—it would help if I knew what you were looking for."

Jamie broke the silence they had fallen into about an hour later. They had been wandering the streets, she would have thought it was aimless but Blake was obviously searching for something. She didn't know what, but he had asked her to come along this morning to be a fresh set of eyes. She recognized much of where they walked as the routes that she had drawn out on the map, but they seemed to avoid the trucks today and had even been lucky enough to not run into any mercenaries on patrol either.

"Vantage points," he said simply.

Well, that was helpful to a non-cop.

"Care to explain?"

Blake was patient, if not a little apologetic. "We need to find places that we could have a decent view of the streets from, preferably streets that the mercs use on patrol. Or better yet, streets on the truck routes. It's just about finding the right building and hoping it's unoccupied; or if it is, that its occupants are friendly."

Jamie opened her mouth in a silent "o" and they continued walking. She had gotten the feeling from the casual glances that the detective had thrown her way that he was expecting something of her. Maybe he wanted her to pull a white rabbit out of a top hat and tap-dance? Jamie laughed to herself a little and wondered if she should explain to Blake that she had even less of an idea of what they were doing than him.

And then, just as they were nearing Ackerman Park, a thought popped into her head. It was random, but Jamie was quickly learning that thoughts like this were often not really all that random.

"Do you think there is a way out of the city?"

His face clearly said that she should already know the answer to that question, but he humored her anyway. "The only bridge that isn't blown is guarded by our own military who are under strict orders to shoot anyone trying to cross or else risk Bane detonating the bomb. All the other tunnels are blocked with debris."

"What if you blew a hole through the outflow near Ackerman—where you've been doing the food drops?" Jamie nodded south and Blake looked. "Could you blast a hole with enough room for the cops to get out and consequently, people?"

"Sure." He said completely serious and Jamie felt a small measure of hope rise in her chest. "And then Bane's people would shoot everyone trying to exit. Or worse, they would simply decide to detonate."

"It might be worth a shot though, if we get desperate enough. You could take out the mercenaries guarding the outflow first; it would buy yourself a little more time."

"And when the time is up the fact still remains that we don't have enough people on our side to put up a real fight."

Whatever hope had been there deflated some and Jamie pursed her lips. He was right, she knew it. She had gone to one meeting with Gordon's men after she had been officially accepted and before her mother put her in lockdown. There were just too few of them and some weren't even active in the force. But then, she thought, she was there and she wasn't a police officer. She was a normal Gotham citizen.

Okay, she was a normal Gotham citizen who heard the voice of God. Still.

There had been a recurring and particularly nagging thought in her mind for the past two months; she couldn't shake it, no matter how hard she tried. There simply had to be others. There had to be more people that were ready to go to war; people that were ready to take control of their city and not because a terrorist had told them to. There had to be people that were tired of this… evil.

Jamie finally voiced this idea to Blake and everything about him seemed to tighten as she did.

"Don't you think we've tried that idea?" He snapped angrily. "There is no one but us. And even if there were, where have they been this whole time?"

"Maybe they're waiting for their chance," Jamie said, her voice quiet. "I was."

Blake looked at her long and hard and they didn't say anything after that. Jamie was quickly starting to grow tired of these awkward silent moments. They were popping up a lot these days, like little black bubbles in the conversation; these odd and uncomfortable things when no one had any idea what to say. But there was nothing she could do to stop them.

They're path eventually led them further into the city and Jamie's gaze was drawn to the massively tall building just up ahead. The huge "W" on it stood out to her and she knew—as everyone in Gotham knew—that it was Wayne Tower. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire who went broke overnight and consequently disappeared. There was a brief moment when she wondered if he might have been one of the people who would stand up. She wasn't sure, but he might have. That is, if the people of Gotham hadn't of most likely killed him in their raiding of the rich and powerful.

The snow started to fall a little faster as they drew closer, not heavy but more of a small flurry than anything. She could hear Blake's groan and she felt like echoing it, more snow only meant that she would be not just cold but _wet_ and cold. Staring down at the ground, Jamie kicked her foot against the snow-dusted concrete as they walked over a sewer. But the moment she touched the sewer, her foot caught and Jamie gave a fantastic flail before—

**_Down here._**

When she heard it, it did nothing for her already off-kilter balance. In fact, she was almost sent to the ground face first in shock. Thankfully Blake seemed to have gotten the idea over the last few weeks that Jamie did not have the ability to walk for long periods of time without some sort of a stumble. She just wished she could tell him that it only happened this often during the winter. Dumb ice.

But she didn't have time to explain because she was mesmerized as she stared down at the sewer top. She had been hearing the voice of God long enough to know better than to question Him, but part of her couldn't help herself.

"Here?"

Blake gave her an inquisitive look, not understanding. One of his hands had a good grip on her upper arm in case she decided to face plant. Jamie shook him off when she felt something akin to a 'yes', though it wasn't spoken. She got down on her knees and began brushing away the powder-like snow.

"What are you doing?"

Jamie ignored the odd sound to Blake's voice. She figured this was just another moment for him to add to the _Crazy Jamie_ file. Digging her fingers into the tab of the sewer top, she curled them under and tried with all of her strength to lift it up, but it wouldn't budge. She tried again and she knew the detective was seconds away from picking her up and dragging her away. Finally, exasperated, she looked to him for assistance. "Can you help?"

John Blake stood there staring at her and Jamie rolled her eyes and tried once more to no avail. "Jamie, get up," he sounded a little embarrassed but even more annoyed as his eyes flickered all around them. "Someone is going to notice."

"Then you better help me and pick this up so we can get in faster."

"Get in—are you kidding me?"

Jamie snapped then, tired of having to explain herself. "Just help me, John!"

It was the first time she had really called him by his first name alone and she wasn't sure it suited him. But her irritation overrode that and she watched as he sighed and got down to his knees and moved her out of his way. All it took was one try for him and the sewer top slid to the side releasing a dank sort of musky smell. It wasn't terrible and Jamie was immensely grateful for that—because if she was supposed to climb down in there and it had been smelly, she and God would have had a _long_ talk.

Leaning over, Jamie looked down into the manhole. The drop wasn't too bad, at least not enough to cause certain death. She definitely wasn't going to be tall enough to touch the ground when she lowered herself into it, but at least it wouldn't be a terrible jump. Breathing out a laugh that was a little on the insane side, Jamie moved and put her legs inside the hole and glanced at Blake with a wild grin.

"Come on, we're going down."

"Are you nuts?"

She gave him a flat stare. "Do you realize how many times you've asked me that?"

"Do you realize how many times you've made me ask it?"

She rolled her eyes and made the careless jump into the sewer landing with a soft grunt. Smiling, she brushed herself off and looked straight up covering her eyes as some snow fell when Blake moved to the edge and looked down at her.

"Are you coming or not?" Jamie called up.

"Tell me you have a good reason for this." She was testing all of his patience; it was clear in his voice and even clearer in his expression.

"Vantage point," she explained and when Blake didn't move she put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Either you're coming, or I'm continuing in alone. Make your choice and make it fast."

In no time his body came falling straight into the manhole and when he landed Jamie saw that it was taller than him as well. Only then did she realize that it would be extremely difficult getting out. Huh, maybe she should have seen if there a ladder or something before she jumped in?

"I think you're misunderstanding the idea," Blake's voice was tight as he rose to his full height and glowered down at her. "A vantage point is somewhere up high, not underground."

"Well, we weren't getting anywhere so it was time to think out of the box. Plus, I have a good feeling about this."

The detective looked at her sharply. "A feeling… or did you hear something?"

"Would you really like to know the answer to that question?" He didn't say anything, but his face gave her a clear answer. "Fine. Yes, I heard something."

For some reason, that didn't seem to put Blake at ease or give him more confidence in what they were doing. And Jamie figured he was right, this didn't really make sense when they were out looking for 'vantage points'. But she had something that was more reliable than natural reason or an educated guess. She had God and that was pretty final. Except for the fact that now that they were inside the sewer, she had no idea where they should go.

The sewer went on in both directions and there had to be tons of winding turns down here connecting to one another and leading only God knows where. Jamie tried not to laugh at that thought. She could feel Blake's eyes on her as he waited with his arms crossed and one quirked eyebrow.

Well, maybe he could help out instead of just stand there and wait to make fun of her.

"You said you got promoted because you followed a wild goose chase down the sewers, right?" Blake nodded once. Jamie rocked on her toes with her hands behind her back and a guilty little grin on her face. "So… do you have any idea of where we are?"

His arms unfolded then and one hand came up to rub his temple. "I _cannot_ believe this. It was your idea to come down here, you know."

"So you have no clue," Jamie deduced and Blake looked ready to blow. "Perfect. Okay, this is an adventure."

She wished she could say that she made a more intelligent decision on which direction they should take other than playing eeny-meeny-miny-moe, but it was what she had been reduced to. For the sake of the detective behind her, she did so silently. The game ended on the path to the right of her, Jamie didn't hesitate to start walking down that way. Only, Blake wasn't with her.

Noting his absence, she turned around ready for another argument… to see him drawing on the wall with a piece of chalk. And he thought she was weird.

"What are you doing?"

"Marking where we came in from," he told her easily and she walked over to get a closer look. It was the symbol of a bat and for some odd reason it surprised her more than it should have. She liked it.

"Good idea." She told him with a grin and Blake tucked the piece of chalk back into his pocket. She wasn't sure she wanted to ask why he had chalk in the first place; some things, she had learned, were best left alone. Blake started down the path she had originally chosen this time and Jamie had to catch up with him.

It was a long tunnel with nothing but a concrete cylinder encompassing them. The smell was a little worse actually being down here, but not unbearable. Jamie could handle the smell, what she found she wasn't enjoying as much was the near complete darkness they were in. She sighed in relief though when Blake pulled out a mini flashlight and sent some of the shadows fleeing like vermin from the light. Total darkness was bad. Total darkness meant that anyone could be up ahead; it also meant that she could step in something really gross.

But now that it was gone, Jamie felt her mouth form the words before she even realized what she was saying. "So, how's the Commissioner doing?"

"He's holed up in an apartment while the city that he swore to protect is under the thumb of a masked terrorist with a nuclear bomb that he could set off at any given moment."

"So he's… grumpy?"

A beat of silence.

"That's one way of putting it."

"Tell him I said, 'Hi'."

"Don't worry," Blake chuckled and it was not a kind sound. "I'll be telling him _plenty_ about today. Like how freakin' insane you are."

Jamie paused for one step, wincing and then continued on trying to cover her sudden hurt that flared up. "Ouch. That was rude," she sighed and it was a little on the dramatic side. "And here I thought we had reached an understanding today."

Okay, maybe a little more bitterness came through that last part than she had meant. But Blake had been pretty careless in the things he said to her face over the last few weeks and sometimes… sometimes there was only so much ridicule Jamie could take. She was well aware that a lot of things about her did not make sense to Blake, she was fine with the fact that he didn't believe in God, but she didn't think it gave him an excuse to be outright mean about it.

The hurt throbbed a little less, fading as they walked but Jamie couldn't bring herself to look at Blake. She could feel his eyes on her, studying her sudden change, and then he cursed colorfully and quietly.

"I'm sorry, Jamie. I'm normally better at this."

She didn't look at him, choosing to stare straight ahead. "Better at what?"

"People," Blake said very matter of fact. He sounded upset. "I'm normally the one the department sends to talk to kids when there's been an accident or to the families when they lost someone. I coached basketball at St. Swithuns before everything. As a rule, I don't treat people badly—especially girls. It's just… you're not exactly like any girl I've ever met and this situation isn't exactly like any I've ever been in. It's unprecedented and the fact that we might get blown to bits any second has made me… a little tense."

Jamie let what he said sink in and she thought about the fight she had had with her mother. Apparently they all were a little tense lately.

"I understand," Jamie said quietly. "Thank you for telling me."

She saw Blake give a jerky sort of nod—she recognized that nod. It was the Man Nod. And though the hurt was still there, Jamie knew then how hard it had been for Blake to say that. He didn't seem like to type who enjoyed revealing much about himself, especially weaknesses. And he had revealed plenty today.

They were reaching the end of the tunnel and it split into two new ones. Immediately Blake went to the wall directly in front of them and drew another bat with ease. Jamie watched him feeling questions bubble up in her again; but she kept her mouth shut tight this time not wanting to ruin whatever sort of tentative truce they had reached. He stepped back when he was done he shined the small light down one path and then the other before choosing to go right. Jamie began to follow his lead and—

**_Left._**

She stopped. Blake didn't notice her lack of footsteps at first, but when he did he turned around curiously. "Left," she whispered and stared at the ground with her eyes wide. "We need to go left."

There were questions and choices flashing in Blake's eyes and he seemed to watch her carefully before he nodded. "Okay. Left."

They turned around and this tunnel wasn't as long, and of course it led them to yet another set of tunnels and Jamie started to feel a little worried as Blake made the mark once again on the walls. This was getting confusing but at least these ones weren't identical to the others. The tunnels had changed rapidly; they were bigger, more open and definitely cleaner. There were dim lights on the walls, enough to see where they were going, and Blake flicked off his flashlight glancing around silently.

Another choice had to be made and Blake was obviously giving her the right to make it. It didn't take long and it wasn't hard. She didn't hear the voice telling her where to go this time, but she just… knew. It was like she had been here before, like she had walked this ground even though she had never stepped foot on it—she instinctively knew where she was going. Jamie found it hard to explain, so she didn't.

Blake seemed content to not ask and for that Jamie was grateful.

They followed a large curving wall and it steadily went took them downhill. Silent except for the light tapping of their footsteps, Jamie felt the man next to her grow tense the further they walked. She didn't know what was wrong, but she felt it to. Something was different.

"Stay here," Blake said suddenly holding out his hand to stop her and Jamie listened without question.

He pulled a gun from a holster and crept around the final sharp curve and out of sight. Jamie rocked onto her toes and then put her back against the wall so that she could have a complete view of the tunnel. She waited and minutes crept by before Blake returned. His gun was holstered but he looked paler than she had ever seen him.

"What's wrong?" She whispered, scared to know the answer.

"Come see, it's a ghost town in here—just us. But you have to see this."

Jamie pushed herself away from the wall with a sort of dreaded curiosity. She followed him as he took a sudden left and the next thing she knew they were out of the confined space and Jamie felt her mouth drop open in absolute shock.

"Blake… where _are_ we?"

They stood at the edge of a huge opening, a massive man-made cavern cut out of rock and concrete, reinforced with steel pillars all around. It was filled with levels of walkways from the ground up with one large one that stretched across the center. There was a reservoir of water at the bottom running steadily and drowning out any other noise in the room. But it wasn't so much the size of it all that caught Jamie's eye; it was what she saw when she looked up. There was a huge hole blasted through the ground above them. Someone had taken what the city had most likely used for sewage care and made it their home. They must have spent weeks—months—cutting their way until they were straight up under a building; it was brilliant, really.

Getting a sudden sick feeling, Jamie was fairly certain she knew who did this.

"You said Gordon claimed he saw a masked man in the sewers, right?"

"Yeah."

Jamie's eyes roamed the place in a weird state of shock. "This is where it all began, isn't it?"

"I think so."

"Thank you, God." She whispered and she didn't know whether Blake heard her or not. She didn't care; she knew who brought them down here.

The two stood there, still. Jamie couldn't believe that this place was just empty, but she supposed it made sense. Bane's men had moved above ground after the show at the football stadium. They had no more need to be in hiding. Naturally, she looked straight up again and into the building above them. There had to have been something in there that Bane wanted—and wanted badly. It must have been the basement or something, there seemed to be no life moving around from what she could see. But then again, she couldn't see much and couldn't hear much over the roar of the water.

"Where does that lead?" Jamie pointed up and Blake gave her a funny look.

"You really don't know where we are?"

"I rarely do," she told him with a shrug. "I just follow."

"Then follow me." He began walking down the railway along the edge of the cavern, tunnel, whatever it was. Jamie did follow, until she saw where he was headed. There was a long and narrow ladder hanging down from the ceiling and it would provide a perfect way out… if Jamie weren't so convinced that it looked too unstable and definitely not strong enough to hold both of them. It didn't matter that she was light as a feather, she was not convinced. But Blake seemed all for it, he grabbed the edge and gave it a heavy pull to test it out. When it didn't budge, he grinned and waved Jamie over. "We're climbing out."

"Oh, big ladder," she muttered and felt herself grimace. "Yay."

"Don't worry," Blake read her expression when she got closer. "You'll be fine."

"And if we fall to our death?" Jamie meant it to be a joke, but her voice was shaky.

Blake looked around suddenly and then grabbed another long rope dangling down from the ceiling, this had a clip on the end and he gave it the same hard tug that he had for the ladder. Satisfied, he held it out to her. Jamie cautiously stepped forward and Blake moved quickly wrapping the rope around her middle. Jamie stared beyond his shoulder as he did so, not used to his sudden proximity. She thought again, at the perfectly wrong timing, of how handsome he really was. Jamie's breath hitched and her eyes went wide when he knelt down and then wrapped the rope around one jean-clad thigh and then the other before hooking the end onto the layer around her waist.

"If you fall, it'll hurt like hell but you won't die." He grinned at her when he finished still standing extremely close, his eyes warm and teasing. Jamie looked into them for a second too long and then abruptly brought herself back down to earth and her mind flew back to what they were about to do.

"This is _much_ more comforting."

Blake moved over to the edge and he looked up. "You can do this. It's just a climb."

Just a climb, Jamie thought to herself. She honestly wasn't sure why she had gotten so nervous. She had never really been afraid of heights before and was always the one ready for adventure, but something about this made her uneasy. Maybe it was just the place they were in.

Blake motioned for her to go first and Jamie sucked in a deep trembling breath. This was just a climb out of a pit, really.

She gripped one bar on the ladder and felt a shock run through her fingers, it made her gasp. Shaking her head, Jamie maneuvered herself to swing out onto the ladder, her back to the massive crevice behind her. She saw Blake's face and he gave her an encouraging look. Jamie grit her teeth and started the climb.

One step, two, a third, two more and she was getting high up; and then just when she felt like she was getting the hang of this and it wasn't so bad, Jamie's vision went totally black.

Terrified at the sudden loss of sight, Jamie wildly grasped for the ladder pulling her body as close and tight to it as she could. She distantly heard Blake yell as the ladder beneath her shook, but it was hard to hear what he said over the rushing waters below. Especially when the rushing waters started to change and shift and transform into voices, so many voices, surrounding her, circling her, rising into the emptiness of the cavern around them bringing it to life; and then Jamie felt the space, the entire massive crevice itself stretch and groan like it was inhaling a deep and long awaited breath. She squeezed her eyes shut in terror but the voices only grew louder—an orchestra now of raw need and desperation. It sounded like failure and it was hope, it sounded like despair and it was life; and it was rising, rising, rising all around her and inside of her.

It was a chant, but more than that; it was a startling melody, beauty and pain and everything human.

She did not understand the words and when she opened her eyes Jamie was not in the cavern with Blake holding onto a ladder. She was somewhere else entirely.

The first thing she registered was the unbearable, unquenchable heat. It became a part of her as it clung and burned its way into her skin—branding her, marking her forever. There were cages built into the desert walls for men—evil men, and the voices of the chant rising until it was all she knew and maybe all she would ever know. But there was no human life. And when she looked up, she saw the sweet promise of the sky; like a hole punched through the darkness surrounding her. But she was stuck inside of this vertical tunnel hanging onto a ledge for dear life… and below was one figure and he was not a man.

He was Bane.

His mask was something like a spider crawling out of his mouth, his body as massive as a tank, and in his eyes was terrifying defiance and a clinical hatred of the world. She felt, for some reason, that he was looking right through her, into her; that he could see her and all of the things she had done. He saw she was breakable, fragile. She was human in every sense of the word and he was not.

His hands gripped the edges of his bulletproof vest and he stared up at her as she clung to the wall trying desperately to escape or just _hold on_. But his eyes, two endless chasms, were calling her back down and like gravity the fall was inevitable.

Jamie let go, giving in, unable to deny the insistent pulling any longer. She was falling from the heights and she could not even scream.

* * *

**AN:** This chapter was harder for me to write, hopefully it didn't come out too bad. If there are any grammatical errors or things that just don't make sense... my bad lol. By the way, how is the length of the chapters? Too long? Should I shorten them or keep them like this? I had to split this one in two, so the second part is like... half way done-ish. A good scene of it is done, we'll say that.

Thank you so much for all of the encouraging reviews. You are all fantabulous!

Until next chapter, toodles!

LIP


	7. New Friends

**_One Life_**** by TheNotoriousLIP **

* * *

**Chapter Six: New Friends**

There is a place of nothing. It exists in the recesses of the mind that is caught between conscious breath and unconscious living. It is the slow sink to the bottom of a pool; peaceful weightlessness. There is no thought, no sound, no emotion, just… nothing. The temptation is strong, to drift further in, to see just how far down you can go; to become the nothing.

It is a dangerous place and whether or not Jamie wanted to stay there, as were many other things in her life, it was not her choice.

She was being slapped; not hard, but enough to certainly bother her. Groggily, she groaned and grabbed at the hand offending her giving it a barely there squeeze. The slapping stopped, thankfully, and moments later, the hand squeezed back.

"Jamie? Hey come on, you gotta wake up now."

She knew that and she tried, she really did. But her eyes would not open and her mouth would not speak, there was hardly any air in her at all and everything just _hurt_. Jamie wasn't sure what was going on, she hardly remembered. There was the sound of rushing waters and she had been on the ladder and—

"_Deshi basara_."

Her eyes flew open, wide and unseeing in pain and shock—like she had been stuck her fingers into an electrical socket. She gasped loudly, her back arching off the ground and her chest heaving as if she had never breathed oxygen before and may never breathe it again. Jamie's hold on Blake's hand quickly turned into a death grip and everything came to life at once; the absolute throbbing pain in her legs, her waist, her hands, and the pounding ache in her head.

But all of that was insignificant compared to what she remembered and what she couldn't stop remembering. She could still feel the heat on her skin, burning hotter and hotter and then there was the horrible hole in the earth—the living hell she had been in, the pit, the chanting, the masked man—_Bane_. Jamie panicked.

Suddenly there was a hand on the side of her face, firm and warm and real. It was Blake. He cradled her head against his chest (when did she end up in his lap?) and his thumb ran over her cheekbone. It caught Jamie's attention; her eyes wildly flickered over to him. His mouth was moving and he was saying something but she couldn't hear him at first and it confused her, why couldn't she hear? She was out of the pool, the deep water; she should be able to hear.

"—need to stay calm and take a deep breath. Take a deep breath, breathe with me, okay?" His voice trickled in partial words and sounds into her ears but it was the first real human sound she had heard since she fell and Jamie stared into his eyes like they were her one and only anchor to sanity. Blake saw the change, the recognition, and he gave her an encouraging nod and a kind smile. "There you are. Good to see you, Jamie. Listen to me; you're going to be fine. You passed out and you fell, but it wasn't far and the rope did its job, the important thing is that you're safe now. You're okay."

Jamie thought that wasn't true at all. She didn't feel okay at the moment.

"I'm gonna sit you up, alright?" Blake asked and Jamie nodded and then winced when her head began pounding like a war drum.

Slowly and carefully Blake lifted her, supporting her back with his arm until she could stay upright on her own. Jamie hissed as her body violently protested the movement, strips of pain lit up like fire on her legs and waist as she bent forward and slouched over. Ever so slowly, Jamie rested her elbows on her legs and brought her hands up to gingerly hold her head.

It would have been nice if the skin hadn't been near completely ripped off of her hands.

Yelping, Jamie jumped at the pain and held her hands in front of her face. There was cloth wrapped around both of her palms and she could see that it was already bleeding through. Jamie stared at the cloth stupidly, wondering where it could have come from. Her eyes shifted to the man still supporting her and she saw Blake watching her closely. When he saw the question in her eyes, he explained.

"You tried to grab the rope as you fell."

_Oh… ow_, Jamie thought in response and she curled her fingers just the slightest until she felt the stabs of pain electrify her hands.

"S'rry." She slurred the word, not even sure why she was apologizing. Her voice sounded funny, almost, as it rasped; like she'd broken it somehow, screamed it all out. Maybe she had? She didn't remember screaming.

"It's okay," Blake said easily. "How's your head?"

"I think its exploding."

"That's normal. It'll fade in a while, but for now you're going to have one hell of a headache."

Jamie groaned in response and closed her eyes again. Her fingers came up and ghosted across her eyelids. Not only was her head pounding away but her vision was _spinning_—and not in the fun way.

"Can you tell me what happened up there?"

Peaking through her fingers at Blake, Jamie had no idea what to say. How was she supposed to explain what happened when she didn't even understand it herself? She bit her lip and for the very first time wished with all of her heart that she had come into the sewers alone. It would be so much easier. Of course she might have died because she probably wouldn't have thought to tie a rope around herself, but at least the only person that would have to deal with the not so beautiful side effects of being a person who heard the voice of God would be her. Jamie could deal with herself being a freak; she could mostly deal with the side comments of those around her, but for some reason her heart sank deep into the pits of embarrassment when Blake asked her that question.

He should never have had to see this, to see her like this. This went beyond hearing voices, it was beyond her control and gave him a very good reason to not allow her to work with them any more (not that she honestly felt like she was helping much in the first place).

"I don't know." She whispered barely loud enough to be heard. Sniffing, Jamie wiped her hand underneath her nose and kept her eyes down. The genuine concern she had seen in Blake's gaze was too much for her right now. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"I asked what happened. I never said anything was wrong with you." There was certain steel in John Blake's voice then and that brought Jamie's eyes back to his. She gawked at him in no minor shock and he met her gaze steadily.

"So… you don't think I'm crazy?"

"What I think right now doesn't exactly matter," Blake shrugged off his answer. "What I know is that if I didn't tie that rope around you, you'd be dead, and I don't think you're that afraid of heights because you were screaming before you fell." He paused and searched her eyes. "I need to know what happened, Jamie."

There were a few moments of quiet. Finally, Jamie drew in a breath. "John, _I_ don't even know what happened. I do… but I don't. It's hard to explain and everything is just swirling in my head right now. Can you give me a few minutes to get myself together before we go into another interrogation?"

The detective contemplated that for a minute and then his gaze traveled out to the area just beyond her shoulder and over the expanse of the cavern. Jamie could hear the rush of the water again and it was nearly overwhelming; funny how it seemed to be noticeable one moment and then seemed to vanish the next. Almost like the chant, Jamie thought. She couldn't hear it now but she could feel it, a living presence. It was there—trapped inside of her, ricocheting off of her ribcage and skin trying to claw its way out. She didn't know what the chant meant or if it was another language at all. Maybe she had simply heard the sound of human desperation.

"Are you gonna be okay if I go have a look around?" Blake's voice caught Jamie's attention. "I won't be gone long, but I want to check this place out and after you've rested a bit we can talk some more."

"Okay."

"Are you sure you're going to be alright?"

"I'll be _fine_. Trust me; just let me… think for a little bit."

They stared at one another, gauging the other and then Blake nodded once; decisively.

"Don't move around too much," he warned her and Jamie would have rolled her eyes if it didn't hurt to do even that. She didn't think she'd be moving around much for a while.

And she didn't, though while Blake was gone she did consider trying to disappear, but she wasn't Harry Potter and didn't have an invisibility cloak, so that wasn't working too well. She was stuck, trapped, and to be honest, Jamie was scared. The moment Blake left she let herself feel the fear openly for the first time and Jamie expected it to take over her mind completely.

Which is why it felt odd when a hollow laugh, more like a gush of air than anything else, found its way out of her throat. It was followed by an intense burning feeling in her eyes and she wondered if she was going to cry. She hoped not, she hated crying. It made her feel childish and Jamie was receiving a crash course on what it meant to be an adult these past few weeks. She didn't feel like she was passing with flying colors either.

Being an adult, she thought, was about hard choices. And before Bane, Jamie had thought that she had made hard choices in her life, but it was nothing compared to what she had to make now every day. She had to choose whether she would be a coward and give in or stick with her morals while innocents were being strung up; she had to choose to stay true to her word and not back down when others questioned her, her motives, her sanity… or she could take the easy way out and lie and say it was all one big joke.

She had to choose to stand up when all she wanted to do was lay down and scream.

Bane, for all of his warped ideas of freeing Gotham, had sent an entire generation of children and youth into the hard choices. His revolution had caused them all to grow up too fast; Jamie thought of Jaclyn. Jaclyn was fourteen and already an adult. She knew how to shoot a gun and when to run and what to do if a mob were to try and raid the house. She knew where to go if their mother were killed, or worse; if their mother and Jamie were killed. Gotham was quickly becoming a city of orphans and Jaclyn knew what to do in case she was added to the statistics.

Jaclyn was fourteen and she knew that there might be a day that in the primal right of defending her life, she might have to take another; and she was ready to do it. That was what frightened Jamie the most. Maybe because Jaclyn was younger it made it easier for her to adapt into this lifestyle without so many of the memories of how things used to be fighting against what is.

At some point during all of her thinking, Jamie had closed her eyes and figured that it was time for her to grow up too. Of course, it was easier said than done. She was trying but she still felt so much like a kid. It didn't help that in all honesty, even though Jamie was helping Commissioner Gordon, she knew she ultimately wasn't very important in the long run. She didn't have a real skill set; she just got lucky, a lot. She didn't think she was very courageous either. Crazy didn't transfer very well into bravery. She was just… Jamie: a nineteen year old idealist at best and a nineteen year old crazy person at worst.

Sometimes she thought she was both and she didn't think that boded well for her in Gotham.

And one day, something was going to have to change. Her or the city and one person taking a stand against twelve million wasn't good odds, one person taking a stand against Bane was even worse odds. She wasn't the Batman, after all, and after these last few weeks she was never more grateful for that. She might hear God, but the Batman had a much harder job in her opinion.

There was a sudden hand on her shoulder, gentle and a little unsure even though the voice was quiet and strong. "Jamie."

Her eyes slid open immediately, because she hadn't been asleep. Sleeping in a place like this wasn't so comforting.

"Hey." Blake gave her shoulder a squeeze and a nice smile. "Can you stand up?"

"Yeah," Jamie mumbled and accepted his offer of help. When she finally got to her feet Jamie winced and tried to rub the top of her thighs but then she remembered her hands and their current condition. Sighing, Jamie was grateful and all, glad she didn't fall to her death, but this sucked.

Finally straightened up and firm on her feet, she ran a hand through her short hair knowing for a fact that it was probably standing every which way. Oh well. What else would be new?

Glancing at Blake, he was watching her with a funny look on his face. Not fully understanding what that was for, Jamie gave him a pained smile. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, it's going to be a long walk. You up for it?"

"What do you mean?" Jamie started, confused. She looked to the ladder again, inwardly shuddering when she saw it and then back at Blake.

He stared at her for a long moment and then motioned to the ladder behind her. "What, you want to climb that again?"

Jamie thought about it, had been thinking about it for the past hour, what had happened and what she saw. She didn't really want to touch the ladder again, but for all of the trouble, she was not going home without finding what they were sent here for. Otherwise, she might just get sent back here another day and they didn't exactly have all the time in the world to do that.

She was trying to be an adult about this. She fell, yes, she hurt, yes, but there were more important things than that right now. Like finding out why they were here in the first place.

"Yes."

"No," Blake shook his head adamantly. "Absolutely not."

Frustrated, her head aching, Jamie moved over to the ledge. "Well, I'm climbing it."

She heard Blake curse and curse again and he suddenly looked as though he was ready to strangle her. Jamie ignored it, too tired to explain her thought process to him at the moment. Of course, she was still afraid of getting on the ladder again, but it was different already from the last time. There was no weighty sense of dread, only the memory of it.

"Don't you want the rope?" Blake asked suddenly as she moved around to grasp the ladder for the second time. He was holding it out to her and Jamie grimaced feeling the sharp stabbing pains around her legs and waist. She shook her head firmly. Blake chucked it back over the edge and turned back. "You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met."

"Then you haven't gotten out much," Jamie mumbled under her breath and ignored her lightly shaking hands as she pulled her weight up the first step. She concentrated hard and drowned out the sound of the water. Her gaze stayed locked on her goal, the ridged edge of the building floor above her. It wasn't a long climb, but she took her time on each step, not wanting any repeats.

Finally, reaching the top, Jamie scrambled off of the ladder and onto the cool tile floor of the building without an ounce of grace. She nearly kissed the floor out of sheer relief as she lay flat. But it was a weird sensation, she thought, climbing up out of a place like what was down below and then suddenly being in a sterile, cold building.

The ladder shook and she leaned over the edge. Blake was climbing up now and he made quick work of the steps reaching the top much faster than she had. He gave her a long hard glare when he finally got out. Jamie didn't feel like acknowledging it. They both stood then, looking around the giant room. Jamie guessed this place had probably held supplies of some sort, considering that it had been stripped completely bare. There was nothing in here but a deep chill and white tile and it would have been a little disappointing, if it weren't for the elevators at the other end of the room. Jamie headed straight for them without a word to the dark haired detective knowing he would follow. Pressing the button, the doors slid open right away and they both stepped in wordlessly.

It was an awkward ride up to the first floor. Blake was upset and he wasn't even trying to hide it and Jamie knew they were still due for what would probably end up being a long talk. She figured the walk home would be perfect for that, as long as they were out of the tunnels.

Finally the elevator stopped and the door whisked open with a soft swishing sound and Jamie right away took a step running almost face first into a woman standing on the other side. Both she and Jamie jumped a little at the sight of someone so close and unexpected.

"Can I help you?" The woman asked; her voice had a slight exotic touch, but it was soft and full of questions.

"Um, yeah," Jamie felt stupid as she stumbled over her words. "Where are we?"

"We're at Wayne tower, Jamie." Blake answered for her, his voice tight. Yep. He was pissed off. But Jamie glared at him for not having told her in the first place and Blake met the look with a glare of his own. The woman watched the exchange closely, a small smile of amusement on her lips.

"Are you injured?"

The question felt random at first and Jamie looked at the woman in confusion before following her eyes down to the spot she was staring at; the blood seeping through her hastily made bandages on her hands.

Still looking at the redness, Jamie mumbled, "I fell."

Before the woman could respond, Blake stepped forward. "Ma'am, do you work here?"

The woman smiled and Jamie noticed that she was beautiful; very. "Yes, I am on the board for Wayne Enterprises."

Blake nodded, like he knew that. He went into full blown cop mode. Jamie thought it was different than he normally acted, or maybe different from how he acted around her. There was a more professional and concise tone to his voice—and there was no trace of anger in him whatsoever. How did he hide that so well? Or did Jamie just bring that out in him?

"I'm Detective Blake," he reached forward to shake her hand all business. "Do you mind if I take a look upstairs? The police might have use of this building."

"Please, whatever you need."

Relieved, Blake turned, "Jamie—"

"I'll wait down here," Jamie cut him off and motioned with her hands. "Go, snoop."

Blake looked like he wasn't sure he wanted to leave her and Jamie almost promised him that he didn't need to worry; she would try not to fall down the elevator shaft or something ridiculous like that. But she kept her mouth shut and Blake still hesitated.

In all honesty, she truly didn't want to go with him. It would be awkward if he was still ticked off at her and Jamie was feeling a little light headed and just wanted to sit down.

"She will be alright, Detective. I'll stay with her until you return," the woman spoke up and Jamie looked at her in surprise. She turned to Jamie with a warm smile. "I'd like to take a look at your hands, if you don't mind."

Blake seemed satisfied now that she had a babysitter and he gave Jamie a pointed look before stepping back into the elevator. Jamie didn't know what the pointed look was for or what it meant, but she nodded like she understood. Maybe he was telling her to be safe? Maybe he was telling her to behave?

A hand touched her arm gently and Jamie jumped. Blake was gone and she had been staring at the elevator for who knows how long. Jamie threw the woman next to her an apologetic look and the woman just continued smiling at her. She led Jamie over to a marble-like bench. It wasn't really a comfortable seat, but it would work for the time being.

"Rest here while I go get the first aid kit."

Jamie nodded and the woman left, the heels she wore made a delicate sort of clicking sound against the tile. Jamie watched her walk away and thought again that she was beautiful, in a fragile sort of way. But there was something about her, the way she spoke and moved that felt… old; ancient, really. Not in a bad way, but it a way that made Jamie think of paintings in a museum; beautiful pieces of art that were thousands of years old, hung with absolute care. They were created with tender brush strokes; every move carefully thought out and planned to get the perfect blend of color and held with high esteem by onlookers. It was a delicacy that Jamie had never known.

The woman returned minutes later with a clear container that had a red cross on the top of it. She set it down and immediately got out alcohol swabs and gauze. Jamie silently allowed her to unwrap the torn cloth from her hands and that was when she suddenly realized that she had no idea where that cloth came from. It wasn't anything Jamie wore, it looked more like—crap. It was from Blake's shirt.

The color was the same and Jamie couldn't believe that she hadn't noticed. She would have to thank him, later.

The woman's hands were like gentle steel as she removed the hastily made bandages. What was revealed beneath them made Jamie grimace horrifically. Her palms were practically _shredded_. The woman paused and stared down at Jamie's hands and Jamie wondered if it was because she wasn't used to seeing injuries—Jamie knew she personally wasn't.

"That's quite a nasty rope burn you have, Miss…"

"Oh, sorry! I'm Jamie. Jamie Delacroix."

"Miranda Tate."

Jamie couldn't help it when she looked up in surprised shock. "I know you."

"You do? I don't believe that I've ever had the pleasure of meeting you and I am usually quite good at remembering faces."

"Well, I guess I don't really _know_ you," Jamie thought about it. "I know _of_ you. Everyone in Gotham knows of you. Wow, sorry, I've just had a really traumatic experience and I don't usually seem to be able to use my filter very well after I've had those."

Miranda smiled in amusement and grabbed the alcohol pads. Jamie eyed them with dread, her mind already imagining the extreme pain those were going to bring. Miranda ripped open the paper packaging and unfolded the pad.

"This is going to hurt."

And it did, so much so that it made the younger girl flinch and naturally try to rip her hands out of the other woman's grip. But Miranda had a firm hold and did not apologize as she continued cleaning with precision. Unwelcome tears were gathering in Jamie's eyes and she tried not to move too much, but it hurt so much.

It helped when Miranda started talking again. Distractions were always good.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you get in here? The elevator showed that it was coming from the basement and there is no entrance on that level."

Jamie was biting her lip, her eyes glued to the torturous cleaning Miranda was putting her through. Her palms started bleeding again from the new agitation, but every time Miranda swiped at them Jamie got a glimpse of angry red and pink flesh. "We climbed out of a pit."

There was a pause in the painful cleaning process and Jamie could feel Miranda's surprise before it came through her voice. "… You climbed out of a pit?"

"Yeah," Jamie spoke through a grimace and pointed to the ground. "We came in through the sewers; the tunnels down below. We were trying to find our way out, and stumbled into this cavern, I guess. There was a huge crevice that someone had used to blast the ceiling through the building above us—this building. There was a ladder and so we climbed out… How did you know this was a rope burn?"

Miranda stared at Jamie and for the first time since they began speaking there was not even the slightest trace of a smile on her face.

"I've seen my fair share of them. That must have been a difficult climb you made."

"Painfully."

"I can see that. I am glad you didn't hurt yourself further. A drop like that can mean death."

Jamie shuddered knowing that all too well. "Yeah. Hey, do you live here?"

Even though Miranda was the only person she had seen, Jamie suddenly heard the indistinct mumbling of people and she wondered if this place had turned into a refugee center like St. Swithuns.

"No," the smile was back on Miranda's face and there was sadness in it. She was finally done with the cleaning and Jamie practically sagged down in utter relief. "The other employees of Wayne Enterprises and I have taken refuge here. This is not my home."

Miranda took Jamie's left hand and began wrapping it with gauze. There was some of Jamie's blood on Miranda's hands, bright, rich, and red, and that was when it hit her; Miranda Tate, power house in the Wayne Enterprises and one of the wealthiest women in the city of Gotham, was caring for her wounds. For some reason the kindness of such an action made it hard for Jamie to swallow. It was simple and she did not have to do it, but it was unexpected in its generosity.

Needing to say something, Jamie found herself talking again.

"Is Gotham your home? You're accent is different."

"I was not born in Gotham," was all that Miranda said and then she was taping the end of the gauze. "All done. You need to keep this as clean as possible. That means changing the bandages often."

Her instructions were simple but the tone in her voice made it clear that they were to be followed and Jamie felt like she was being scolded in the nicest way she had ever been. It was funny and sincere and so odd after the day's events.

"I will, thank you," Jamie smiled and Miranda returned the gesture with grace and poise and Jamie couldn't help herself. "You're kinder than I thought you would be." There was a beat of silence before her eyes widened in horror at actually saying that out loud. "Sorry! I didn't mean for that to come out like it did. It's just, well, I never really thought—"

"Do not fret," Miranda laughed softly. "I understand. Kindness in Gotham is a rare find indeed."

"It is. Thank you again, Miss Tate."

"Miranda."

"_Miranda_."

They stood there for a moment and it was only slightly awkward. Thankfully, Miranda's social skills came into great use as she changed the subject. "What was it you searching for in the sewers?"

"Vantage points," Jamie said simply and she grinned at the amused look that came over the other woman.

"That is an… interesting place you chose to look."

"I think it produced great results."

Miranda reached forward then taking one of Jamie's hands in her own and she pressed her thumb gently into her palm until Jamie felt a flare of pain. "Some might not see things the way you do."

Jamie found herself mesmerized by Miranda's eyes as she spoke. They were beautiful, like everything else about Miranda Tate; but they were older than the rest of her seemed to be. It was like looking into galaxies of galaxies, as if they had seen things Jamie could never possibly imagine—lifetimes that had been lived. And for some odd reason, Jamie felt like she knew something inside of Miranda. She couldn't put words into it, but it was something she just _knew_.

"No," Jamie finally spoke, her voice telling and as soft as the first snowfall in winter. "Not many do."

"You are an interesting woman, Jamie." Miranda's hand then came up to her face like a mother would do to a child and her fingers curved down Jamie's jaw. "Come; let's see if your detective friend has found what he is looking for."

Jamie didn't say anything when Miranda grabbed her hand and tucked it into the crook of her elbow careful this time of her injuries. It only reinforced Jamie's thoughts that there was something about Miranda Tate that felt like it came out of a time centuries ago. She was different.

Jamie could appreciate being different.

They walked and Miranda led her to a stone-like foyer packed with people down below and Jamie didn't know what to think about the fact that she was starting to grow used to the sight of people huddled together not just for warmth but for survival. Her eyes roamed the room and landed on a familiar figure standing at the bottom near the main entrance. Blake was talking with another man, older and African American. Jamie pursed her lips finding him familiar looking as well and then it hit her.

"Is that…"

"His name is Lucius Fox," Miranda turned to her with a teasing grin. "Do you know him as well?"

"_Of_ him."

"Ah, I see," Miranda laughed and Jamie felt herself blush and smile all at once. "He is a good friend of mine. The road you see beyond those doors, it should lead you out to Merchant Street. Do you think you both will be able to find your way from here?"

"Yes." Jamie nodded. Blake had spotted her and he was waving her over. She turned to the woman next to her with all the gratefulness she could muster. "Thank you, again."

Miranda kept that same warm smile on her face, in fact she seemed to always speak with it and Jamie found that strangely comforting. "If you are ever in need of anything—if there is anything that the people are Wayne Enterprises or I personally can do, you know where to find us. Do not be afraid to ask. And be careful, Jamie Delacroix. You wouldn't want to fall down into any more pits."

Jamie laughed at that last part as she went to find Blake feeling much more at ease than she had in a long time. Maybe all of Gotham hadn't gone to hell just yet.

* * *

It took a lot to sneak up on Bane.

Few were capable of it; the first being his lieutenant Barsad and then it was only on the rare occasion. The second was the woman standing behind him now. He saw her in the mirror as he came to his full height, her lips curled in genuine amusement. She enjoyed sneaking up on him and had since she was a child. She was the only one he didn't mind doing it either. It was the first and most necessary rule he had ever taught her and it pleased something deep within Bane to see that she still lived by that rule.

"Leaving your duties behind today?" Bane smirked at her from underneath the mask knowing she would be able to read his expressions as easily as she had for the past twenty years.

"Only for a time," Talia told him and moved closer.

Bane watched her in the mirror, her small body almost hidden completely behind his. He shivered when he felt cool fingers ghost along his back and up his shoulder feeling the body that was familiar to her. Finally, she moved her head to the side so she could see Bane's face again and she grinned at him and in that smile, Bane felt like a younger man.

Talia moved to his side and pressed her cheek against his arm, her fingers resting lightly on his forearm. It was so familiar to the two of them, this closeness. It was comfort and reassurance; it was survival. Bane held her eyes in the mirror and then decided that that was not enough. Slowly he looked down at her, his hand coming up to cup her cheek with the barest of touches. Talia closed her eyes and her smile was soft.

They stood like that, simply touching and taking what they needed from one another, before Talia drew away.

She turned and went back into his room and Bane followed her over to the couch. Talia perched on it, curling her legs underneath her. She was staring down at her hands, almost transfixed, and Bane looked as well. There were blood stains on her fingers and she moved them as if playing a tune on a piano that was not there. Bane did not ask where the blood came from, he did not need to.

"An interesting thing happened today," her accent was lilting and her voice full of mirth.

"Oh?"

Talia's eyes flashed to his. "A young man and woman came wandering out of the sewers beneath Wayne tower. One of them was a detective, John Blake. He asked to use Wayne Tower for police purposes."

"How did they find the tunnels?"

"The girl did not tell me how, but when I spoke with her," Talia paused and she took her blood stained hands and was touching Bane's arm again. He did not mind. But when she stopped, her lips were pursed. "She says they climbed their way out of a pit. She was injured."

Bane stared at his oldest friend, the woman he had and will give his life for, and he read the slight unease in her posture. He would take care of this; he would take care of her. He always had.

"What is this girl's name?"

"Jamie Delacroix," Talia said quietly and then her eyes glinted with a fire that Bane knew all too well. "Do what you wish with the detective, but don't kill the girl. She is a new friend."

* * *

_"You don't have to put down the knife. You can keep it, if you like. I am not worried about you killing me."_

_"Where are you taking me?"_

_"There is someone you should meet."_

Breath rushed into her lungs, powerful and alive, as Adenrele woke with a start. She didn't flinch, she didn't sit up, her body was perfectly still but instantly fully aware of every detail surrounding her. There was noise on the floor level, a humming of indistinct conversations as her brothers and sisters grew excited at the prospect of a meal. But none of that was what woke her up; someone was in the room.

She knew it was Maggie as the subtle sound of a heavy belt weighed down with weapons was dropped onto the floor. Maggie was trying to be silent and she was good at it, but Adenrele had a sort of sixth sense when it came to people being in the room—even when she was sleeping.

She supposed years of having to watch her back was responsible for that.

Lying there, now that she knew she was safe, Adenrele's mind played back her dream—the one she had been having for years. It never changed, not once. Barsad was always kind; even after she had sliced his arm open the first time he had come near her. He had let her keep her weapon, if only for her own comfort. It had killed her husband and it had killed him well, but it would not have killed Barsad. She would not have killed Barsad. First, only because he was more skilled; but second, because of the smile he gave her. She was drenched in blood and he was smiling at her like her didn't even notice it.

It was the first kindness Adenrele had been shown in many years and she would not forget.

Sighing, Adenrele felt like the memories were in such a thick fog around her that she had to brush them away with her hand. She sat up and glanced over to the cot at the other end of the room, Maggie was already fast asleep with her back turned to her. Adenrele stared at the violent orange hair on the other woman, it was tamed and carefully placed in a French braid, but it was the color that Adenrele always stared at. It was so different than what she had seen most of her life and she couldn't help but find it interesting.

A shadow appeared at the door and Adenrele glanced over to find Barsad standing there. He had two steaming bowls in his hands and a gun slung across his back. His eyes traveled over to Maggie's sleeping form and then back to Adenrele, he didn't say a word but she knew to follow.

She slipped on her boots, tied them, and was out the door. Coming to the balcony, her eyes caught Barsad's movements near a pillar that was vacated. Adenrele wasted no time in getting down the stairs and weaving her way through the crowd to him.

Wordlessly, Barsad handed her one of the bowls of soup and Adenrele took it gratefully. She sat down right away and began eating while Barsad stood leaning against the same pillar she had her back to. Neither one felt the need to say much and that was okay with them, this was how it had always been. Even after the incident a few weeks ago, Adenrele had never had to apologize and Barsad never mentioned it. But he did take her patrol for her for the next two nights and she knew that was his own way of making amends between them. She let him do it, too.

It still bothered her, the incident as a whole. But there were many different things to think about over these last few weeks and sadly a no-name boy was not one of them. He was added to the ever-growing list of deaths Adenrele had to live with. Barsad as well, she guessed. But she could not blame her oldest friend for what he did, orders were orders.

"She is sad today."

Adenrele looked up from her bowl curiously to see who the normally quiet man was talking about. They watched as Talia Al Ghul walked past, dressed for business in her guise as Miranda Tate. Though her walk was all Talia, light and silent and ready; but the closer she came to the door they watched as it magnificently change into that of Miranda Tate. Delicate was a good word for the woman she was pretending to be.

Adenrele didn't think the look suited her.

As if aware that she was being observed, Talia glanced over at the two of them and when she saw their familiar faces she gave them a very small smile. That's when Adenrele saw it. Barsad was right, as he usually was in his reading of people.

"She has been like that these last few weeks," Adenrele commented quietly after Talia had left and Barsad thought about it for a moment.

"So has he."

There was nothing more that needed to be said about their two leaders and Adenrele went back to her soup. It didn't taste very good, but it was hot and that was all that truly mattered. Barsad had finished his already and she figured he did it to get past the taste.

Bringing the spoon up to her mouth, she felt his eyes on her as they usually were. This time, she couldn't help herself.

"You're staring."

"I am remembering."

Adenrele's dark eyes rose to his, a question on the tip of her tongue. There were many things that Barsad could be remembering, ten years worth of things.

"Is it a good memory?"

"Yes," he had a little smile on his face—something that was a near constant for him. "Did you dream last night?"

The question was simple, but it was something that Barsad had been asking her since the first morning she woke up in Bane's care. Though her dreams were almost always the same, she always gave him a different answer. Barsad, Adenrele had learned, liked to hear stories and more specifically he liked to hear _her_ stories. So she made up dreams, sometimes she thought it was more for her than him. But he enjoyed it anyway.

"Yes," she said and she felt the barest of smiles curve on her full lips. Her eyes closed and she breathed not caring that they were in the middle of City Hall surrounded by other mercenaries, or that she had a knife in her boot and two others strapped to her waist. She was lost, for one moment, gone from this place, this life she had chosen. "I dreamed I was back in Africa standing barefoot in the red dirt—so red it stains your skin. It was night and the air was cool once the moon had risen. I could hear the distant drum beat of a wedding feast and the song of the cicada rose all around me from the earth as if to join in the celebration. I danced, like I did as a young girl… and there was peace."

"Your accent returns whenever you speak of your home," she could hear the smile in Barsad's voice and Adenrele slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"It is a part of me, even if the memories from home are not all as pleasant."

"You have changed since that night."

Adenrele lost her smile and her eyes drifted back to the room surrounding them. Whatever spell had fallen over them was broken, cracked like glass, and she felt herself harden in an attempt to make up for the break. "I've gotten old."

"Not old," his voice was soft and Adenrele barely caught it.

She leaned back, pressing hard against the pillar as if she could make it shift by sheer force and she thought again about the bomb. She was… stuck. She was stuck in this place, stuck in this city when she would rather be out in the open and away from the confines of steel and concrete. She was stuck and Barsad was a good part of the glue holding her here; Barsad and Bane. Nothing else mattered aside from them and both were determined to stay in Gotham.

"I will take your patrol tonight."

Adenrele jolted a little, Barsad had at some point gotten rid of both of their bowls and he was securing his gun over his jacket.

"Barsad you've already—"

"I will take your patrol tonight," he said again and there was finality in his tone.

Adenrele nodded. "Thank you."

In truth, she would rather be out instead of trapped in here with her thoughts and her dream. She was surrounded by people that she had bled for and had bled for her and she didn't know if any of them were aware that she didn't want to bleed anymore. Did she even have any more blood left?

Barsad slipped away silently and Adenrele watched him go from her place on the ground.

Eventually another body came into her vision, this one as familiar as the last. She looked up to meet Bane's eyes and she tried to see it, the twinge of sadness that Barsad spoke of, but maybe Bane had already had the time to rid himself of it because it was not there. He merely looked at her and she stared back as many would not do.

Finally Bane stepped closer to her, Adenrele saw his fingers tap in a rhythm against his thigh and she wondered if he was even aware that he did that. Glancing back to his face, Bane's eyes were unreadable and Adenrele automatically felt herself tense for whatever was coming.

"I have a new mission for you."

* * *

**AN: **OH MY GOSH, guys, I officially love writing Barsad and Adenrele! I want to squish them and hug them.

Okay... anyway, the fun thing about having started this story in an event that takes place in the future (prologue scene) is that you get a glimpse of a Jamie that is different than the one we start out with. You get to see as she gradually changes and her journey to that moment… And so right now Jamie is an idealist and let's be totally honest; she's naïve. But we're working on that :)

Thank you so much for all of the encouraging reviews. They were lovely to read, especially since I hated that last chapter so much lol.

Until next chapter, toodles!

LIP


	8. Human

**Warning: some stronger language is used in this chapter. Since this story hasn't had much yet, I wanted to put this out there.**

* * *

_**One Life**_** by TheNotoriousLIP**

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Human**

He didn't understand her at all; the things she did, the words she said, the fire that seemed almost misplaced in someone like her, the burning in her eyes and hard set of her mouth when she spoke about Gotham and the easy smile that would come only seconds later. She was confusing in every way, an anomaly to the regular human population—and yet she was also so normal at times that it shook him.

Leaving out the whole God issue, which was a huge issue, John Blake thought that Jamie might have at some point been the type of girl that he would have gone for. There wasn't much about her looks that would have typically drawn him—she was short, thin with nearly no curves whatsoever, hair cut like a boy's and eyes a simple brown, but she was funny without entirely meaning to be and fought like hell for what she believed in. Blake thought she was brave, if a little stupid and crazy in that bravery at times.

Maybe that was why he put up with half of the things she did. She was brave and crazy and would fight for Gotham tooth and nail.

"Blake, can you slow down just a little bit?"

The detective glanced over his shoulder to see Jamie wincing as she tried to keep up with his fast set pace and he inwardly cursed. Slowing his steps considerably, Blake gave her an apologetic smile. He knew she was in pain but had overlooked it, his mind focused solely on the information he had just received.

Jamie huffed and once she caught up she flashed him a grin that was laced with pain. She tried to cover it up but didn't do a very good job. "What's got you in a hurry anyway?"

Blake thought about it, his conversation with Lucius Fox blaring like a lighthouse over a foggy sea in his mind. He wondered if he should go ahead and tell her what was really going on in Gotham. Of course, that would mean she would know before Gordon and for some reason that bothered Blake. Even though it wouldn't really matter since he was on his way to see the Commissioner and would be giving him a detailed report; it was more of not knowing if he should tell her at all. With Jamie's habit of getting into sticky situations and those situations coming not by accident but by choice, he wasn't so sure it was a good idea.

But what made the choice difficult was the fact that it was Jamie's actions that led Blake ultimately to the most vital piece of information that they had gotten since Bane first came to Gotham. So he settled for a half-truth, enough to satisfy her curiosity.

"I have to get to Gordon."

Jamie was watching him—staring really. Her face was drawn and when she spoke her voice carried a sense of dread. "What did you find out?"

Blake glanced at her quickly and would have grinned if not for the fact that they were discussing a nuclear bomb. Jamie was smarter than she let on; he had known that the moment after she gave him that map.

"They made it," he said simply.

"Who made what?"

"Wayne Enterprises," he looked over at her. The sun was setting and shadows crept out from behind buildings coming out to play. Blake hated this time of day; it messed with his head and sent him into a paranoid state thinking that there was someone or something always moving, following—stalking. He glared at the shadows in front of him etching their way across the frozen street. "They made the bomb."

"_What?_" Her warm breath shot out in a trail of white smoke and even that caught Blake's eye for a brief moment. He felt his jaw clench and couldn't shake the itching feeling of being followed. It was stupid, really. No one was on the street but them, but he was still on edge.

His hands turned to fists inside of the pocket of his jacket. "They made it originally intending to provide clean energy for the entire city."

Jamie was looking at the ground, her eyes fixated on the snowy sidewalk she walked upon. "Then came Bane," she whispered and John almost didn't catch it.

What he did catch was the bitterness in her voice and the sudden tight movement in her walk. Blake knew how that felt, to be strung tight and angry; stretched like a bow string that would snap if pulled back too far.

He nodded more to himself than anything and turned his eyes back to searching out the shadows enclosing around them. He needed to get Jamie home and then get to the Commissioner—quick. Funny, how now that he knew about the bomb he felt as if there was simply no time, no time for anything. Their lives were ticking away.

A slow ache began in his bones, familiar and dangerous, Blake nearly spit out his next words not even thinking about what he was saying. "And now it won't matter whether or not the triggerman sets it off: the bomb is deteriorating. We have three months before it completely melts down and detonates—_if_ Bane doesn't set it off before then."

Jamie stopped walking abruptly and Blake turned to look behind him. The horror carved into her face was so violent; the skin on her cheeks which had been red from the cold making them look as if she had been smacked and smacked again was slowly draining of all its color.

_Shit_.

He hadn't meant to say all of that.

"Oh my God," her voice trembled and hurriedly Blake moved back to her and grabbed her arm firmly. He pulled her back into step with him, though she stumbled a bit at first and Blake loosened his grip a little realizing that he was holding onto probably too hard. But it was getting darker by the second and he wanted to get her off the streets, he wanted to get himself off the streets.

Silence engulfed them and Jamie walked as if part of her joints were frozen over and not working properly. She probably could have walked on her own, but he kept his hand on her arm to make sure that she wouldn't fall behind again, or face first on the ground, or into another manhole. Blake nearly groaned thinking of all of the possibilities.

After a while, Jamie spoke in a small voice, "What are we going to do?"

It surprised him, to be honest. A small part of him had expected her to be like most people and realize the laughable hopelessness of their situation and fall apart declaring that they were going to die at the hands of a masked terrorist; but he was learning quickly that Jamie was full of surprises. So of course her first thought would be 'what were they going to do'.

But then Blake thought about it and it struck him so hard and fast that he lost his breath for a moment, like the effect of jumping into a frozen river. He had no idea what they were going to do, let alone what they _could_ do. The information was invaluable, but the weight of it, of twelve million people who were going to burn forever in three short months, suddenly sunk down onto his shoulders and Blake found that he could not carry them very far.

He felt like he had been bitten by a snake in the dark, the kind of thing that you never saw sneaking up on you and when it struck it was lighting quick and the venom deadly. He felt weak in every way and that ignited Blake's anger to a raging flame. He hated Bane, he hated his _fucking_ guts. Part of Blake hated this city, too, for falling so easily. He raged at the people all around him, tucked away in their houses pretending they were safe and sound from the big bad wolf prowling the streets.

Well, this wolf wasn't the kind that just huffed and puffed and blew their houses down. No, he was going to blow this whole damn city to the ground.

Fingers, gentle and firm all at once touched his shoulder. They pulled him out of the pit his mind had sunk into and Blake didn't bother to hide the burning anger he felt when he turned to look at the girl next to him. She could look all she wanted, she could see all of the shit twisted and gnarled into horrific knots in him and he didn't care. He was angry, so damn angry because he felt so damn helpless.

Jamie didn't flinch when she looked at him and she stared directly into his eyes and didn't seem afraid by what she saw there. She looked… determined.

"Blake," she spoke calmly and slowly and he absently wondered why in the world she almost always called him by his last name. It was just another thing that made Jamie different to him. The fingers on his shoulder tightened their grip and it caught his attention again. "What are we going to do?"

What were they going to do?

At some point they had stopped walking, Blake didn't know when, but the last vestiges of sunlight streaming through the skyscrapers shone on Jamie's face making her brown eyes glow in a way they normally could not. She didn't squint away from the light or hold up a hand to block it from her view like so many people would, she stood there embracing it like it was a natural part of her.

It made him remember, suddenly, words she had spoken to him just a month ago—

_"It took me years to find the answer, but I think I get it now. Sometimes you don't know what you would burn for until you're already on fire. By then, it's too late. You're just… burning."_

Blake stared at her, the utterly unassuming girl in front of him and he couldn't take his eyes off of her. She was burning brightly, like a signal flame in the dark of night, and so was he. Not for the first time Blake thought that they were burning for very much the same thing, even if their flames were different colors.

"Come on," he said abruptly, his voice low and rough. "We have to keep moving."

Jamie followed along for a moment, and then that moment passed. "You never answered my question."

"I don't know, Jamie," he ground out. She really was the most stubborn woman he had ever met. "Maybe you should ask God and He'll give you a plan to save the city and end world hunger all at once."

She scowled harshly and Blake wanted to hit his head against the building they were passing. Another few blocks and they would be reaching Jamie's street, but another few blocks and he would most likely say some more shit before thinking it through.

"Before you get pissed at me, I didn't mean that," Blake explained before she could get riled up. "Remember what I said earlier about being a little tense?"

Jamie did not look impressed. "So you want me to give you permission to be a jerk?"

"No. I don't."

"Blake," she sighed and looked around like she could find the words she wanted to say in the streets of Gotham. "I would have thought that—after… I don't know."

Jamie's eyes were down again, and Blake saw the same thing come over her that he saw in the tunnels after she told him that she didn't know what was wrong with her. That look bothered him. It didn't seem right on this girl who in every other situation seemed so confident in herself and in all that she said and believed. It only served to further piss him off, but he reined that in quickly before he made this worse.

They were quiet as they walked and Blake felt like it was his turn this time to try and find the words. It wasn't easy. They took a right and Blake could see the familiarity of the side streets they were now walking down. They were getting close to her house and he would be damned if he left her like this. He remembered enviously how easy it was for him to charm people before the bomb. He was natural at it and he had a knack for making girls blush. He enjoyed it, like every normal man would. But whatever skill he possessed seemed to drain away every time he was with Jamie.

To his side, she was still brooding. They were turning down her street now and Blake knew he had to fix this now.

"I believe you," he spoke quiet and Jamie's head snapped up in an instant.

"You do?"

"Not that it's God, but I believe you."

"I don't understand what you mean." Her brow furrowed and she shook her head. "How could you believe me but not believe its God?"

"In my line of work, I see the aftermath of traumatic situations all of the time. I know the signs when someone is going into shock or when they are faking it to hide something. I watched you fall Jamie," he turned to her. They had stopped again and Jamie rocked onto her toes and back to her heels, something she always seemed to be doing—like she could take flight any moment. "I heard you scream before you even fell and that scared the shit out of me. But it scared you more. It was in your eyes; whatever happened up there was real, to you."

She bit her bottom lip and then pursed them, thinking hard. "And if I told you that what made it real was a vision from God?"

"That's pushing it," Blake said honestly.

"No it's not, it is the same thing. If you believe me, then you have to believe that I am telling you the truth."

Blake ran a hand through his hair trying to ignore to itching curiosity as to what she meant by a vision from God and what in the world she could have seen. His hand moved down to rub on the back of his neck and his eyes squinted a little at her as he gathered his thoughts.

"I think you are telling the truth, I think you _really_ believe God is talking to you. Whether there is a God or not is not what is in question. Listen, I believe something happened up there today. I'm not saying you are crazy—not anymore, not after what I saw today. I believe you know things that are impossible to know, I believe you are a good person and you aren't a liar. I also believe that you had a real panic attack and went into shock on both the day we met up at St. Swithuns and in the tunnels."

"So you believe the things I say… just not the source?"

"Yeah."

Jamie nodded slowly and then she extended her hand and looked at the detective with a small smile that didn't entirely reach her eyes. Blake's eyes flickered down to her hand and he stared at the white bandages and gauze wrapped around it. "I think this is what we call a truce, John Blake."

He reached forward, as gently as possible, and enclosed her injured hand within his own. Her fingers were cold, like icicles, and he wondered if maybe it was helping drown out the pain.

"Truce."

"Truce," Jamie repeated and then something glinted in her eye and her smile broke into a fully fledged grin. "But I make no promises of behaving."

"What does that mean?" Blake felt one brow rise as they slowly extracted their hands. He caught her hand briefly flex before she tucked it back into the warmth of her coat pocket.

"It means that if God tells me to go down into the sewers or if he tells me to walk down Merchant Street in a rainbow wig, then I am doing it."

Blake barked out a laugh and let the smile stay on his lips. "Okay, but maybe you could give me a little warning?"

"I'll give you as much warning as I get."

"Deal."

Blake was still smiling at her and he could have sworn that he caught a blush on her cheeks, unless that was the result of the cold… but he wasn't convinced. It made him grin even more as he stared down at this crazy girl who he hardly understood but was occupying a good portion of his thoughts.

Jamie, however, had lost some of her smile. "Blake, I also don't plan on convincing you that God exists, you can believe whatever you want to believe," her eyes hardened into cold steel then. "But I don't plan on being mocked when I speak openly about what I hear and what I believe. You can speak openly about not believing in Him and I won't say a thing; just don't put barriers on me either. It would make working together a lot easier if we both did that."

She stood there, then, rocking on her toes and staring defiantly at the detective. Blake simply nodded. "Okay."

"Good," Jamie lost eye contact with him and glanced over his shoulders trying to cover up her surprise at his quick agreement. She brought her hands out into the cold air and nervously smoothed down the bottom of her heavy black coat.

Blake watched her carefully and he knew she could feel his gaze on her. That's probably why she was looking at everything but him.

"Jamie?"

"Hmm?" Her eyes slowly drew back to his and he was glad.

"I still want to know fully what happened up there," she blanched a little but he continued seriously. "But at the moment there is a little more important information that I have to get to Gordon right now. That doesn't mean I'm letting it go though."

She gauged his expression, his eyes, his stance—everything. "Okay. And… are you going to tell Gordon… everything?"

"I'll tell him what I deem is valuable information," he explained and Jamie bit her bottom lip. "But I won't tell him about you falling until I know the whole story myself."

Jamie let out a controlled exhale. "Thank you." Then she turned a brilliant smile on him and the suddenness of it sent him reeling. Jamie turned and started walking backwards towards her house but kept facing him with that thousand watt grin. "You are a good guy, you know, Blake. One of the better ones."

He didn't know what his face showed, but it made her laugh and she waved a bandaged hand at him. "See you later!"

Blake watched her until she got inside of her house. He told himself that he did it because he wanted to make sure that she got in safely. At the sound of her front door shutting, Blake turned back around and started the long walk to his apartment where Commissioner Gordon was holed up in. Snow started falling heavier, but Blake didn't notice. His mind was going over his conversation with Lucius Fox even though it kept drifting to Jamie.

He didn't understand her at all, he thought for the millionth time. Nothing she did make sense, but she seemed to understand herself perfectly. She understood her place, knew it was planted firmly in this world and she didn't seem to really care if her place was important or not. He wondered how she did it.

Hunching his shoulders against the flurry of snow, Blake heard her words echo in his mind. The same words that were the tipping point to send him to Commissioner Gordon and put his own name on the line for this girl's credibility.

_"Do you know what the scariest thing is? To not know your place in this world, to not know why you're here. That's… it's just an awful feeling."_

* * *

"Are you sure of this?"

Blake nodded once, strong and firm despite the sinking black look that overcame Gordon's face as he did. "Yes, sir."

"Damn it!" The Commissioner exploded rising from his seat on the couch. He began to pace the small apartment running a frustrated hand through his hair and throwing curses left and right. "Damn it to hell!" He turned suddenly and violently and kicked the back of the couch.

Blake was calmly sitting on the coffee table, watching his superior lose it. He felt very much the same not too long ago and Blake couldn't help but ask the same question Jamie had asked him out on the street. Someone had to know and if anyone would, it would be this man.

"What should we do, Commissioner?"

Gordon put his hands on his hips pushing back the jacket he wore. He was breathing heavily from his venting and turned to Blake, his voice strained. "We have to keep this contained. We'll inform the others but only them. If this were to get out," Gordon paused and exhaled quickly shaking his head. "This information would send this city over the edge into absolute chaos. We can't let that happen, not yet. I'll need you to go back to Fox and ask him if there is a way we can disable the bomb. And while you're at it, ask him if he has any way to track it as well—"

Suddenly the lights began to flicker once, twice, and on the third time when they flickered off and did not come back on. Both men heard the heater that droned on in the background of life in the apartment putter and then click and sound like it let out its own sigh of relief as it completely powered down.

Blake sat, frozen, and felt like he was slowly sinking. It had finally happened, Gotham was without power.

"Shit." Gordon breathed and then, like he was inflating, he threw his arms out. "Shit, shit, _shit_!"

Blake got up then and went over to the small storage cabinet in the hallway. He pulled out the kit he had put together in the beginning of all of this. He had emergency blankets in there, water, flashlights and candles, a lighter, some gas and a camping stove among other things. Blake carried it over to the coffee table he had vacated and then went back to the cabinet to grab all of the blankets that he owned. He was immensely grateful for the small fireplace that his apartment had come with and for the fact that he had gathered as much wood as he could in preparation for this. It would be a much colder night without it.

The Commissioner had watched him, lost in his own raging thoughts for a few moments before he joined Blake at the fireplace. Gordon had grabbed a newspaper off of the counter and took out a few pages balling them up and stuffing them underneath some of the small logs Blake had already put in there.

Just as Blake grabbed the lighter and was about the start a fire, the lights flickered again. Off and on they went, as if the power couldn't make up its mind. The two men sat holding their breath and staring up at the fixture in the ceiling. Finally, the power decided to resume and stayed on and they heard the heater kick back into life as well. In that one moment, it felt like the entire city let out a sigh of relief.

Blake sat back, forearms resting on his knees as he let the lighter dangle in his hands. He stared at the fireplace and the Commissioner soon joined him.

"I'm going to head out tomorrow," Blake said suddenly. "Stock up on some more gas—just in case."

Gordon nodded but didn't look at him as he added quietly, "Be careful out there, son."

"Yes, sir."

Quiet fell over them, like a mist and Blake felt his body relax. If the power had stayed off things could have gotten very bad very quickly. They were already bad but this would have been a whole other level.

"We'll call a private meeting tomorrow," Gordon said suddenly. Blake looked at him and understood what the older man had meant by 'private'—no Jamie. "The men need to know the situation, not how you got there."

"Are you going to explain to the others—about her?"

"Information like this is best kept confidential."

"Like the Batman," Blake said under his breath laughing a little. Gordon looked at him but said nothing.

They were walking a tightrope with Jamie and there wasn't a safety net down below to catch them if they tumbled one way or the other. He and the Commissioner had come to accept Jamie for—well, honestly for her information. Blake wasn't so convinced that the others would so easily agree with their decision to trust her, _especially_ if she got a chance to talk.

"Ease over the details of how you got into the sewers and it will be fine," Gordon was saying. "I'm sure the other news is going to be much more of the focus than a nineteen year old girl."

"Foley was suspicious in the last meeting she was in," Blake mentioned.

Gordon raised his eyes, his expression and voice flat as they could be. "If he has any questions, you can direct him to me."

* * *

There was a disheveled lump of blankets twisted into a mummy-like cocoon on Jaclyn's bed. Jamie poked the mass once, twice, shook it, and yet in all of her attempts she never got one glimpse of Jaclyn's face or body. Jamie knew she was in there though, hiding. Digging her hand under the covers, Jamie grabbed at what she assumed were Jaclyn's sides, knowing that her sister was extremely ticklish. But when Jamie got absolutely no response from the huddled mass, she put her hands on her hips and sighed loudly.

"Jaclyn, just wake up already."

"_Die_," came the muffled and groggy response. It was supposed to be mean and threatening, but just like most things involving her little-big sister, it just made Jamie smile.

"Come on, it's late and you're being _lazy_." Jamie drew out the last word and when Jaclyn did not stir, she huffed. Glancing around the room, Jamie tried to brainstorm of a way to get her sister out of bed. There wasn't much she could use… except—

"Bane says that you need to stop sleeping in so much and actually do some work around the house."

One end of the blanket-mummy moved and it formed the shape of Jaclyn's head—though it happened to be at the opposite and _wrong_ end of the bed. "… What?"

Jamie grinned and grabbed the blanket and gave it a rough tug revealing a wispy pile of brown hair and the barest glimpse of Jaclyn's face underneath it. Jaclyn didn't bother to move her hair out of her face, but Jamie couldn't help but reach forward and do it for her knowing Jaclyn wouldn't have bothered otherwise.

"Bane told mom that you were being an unruly child and needed to stop being so lazy. He's a very busy man or else he would come deal with you himself," Jamie told her little-big sister very matter of fact.

Jaclyn stared at Jamie long and hard and irritably. "That's not even funny."

"It is, a little. It's also true. I heard him tell her in the grocery store. Now, come on, get up," she slapped her sister's leg, or the area where she thought Jaclyn's leg would be, and stood from the bed. Jaclyn just continued lying there and Jamie groaned and then went in for the kill. "The whole reason why I'm waking you up is so that you can come with me today."

That did it. Jaclyn sat up immediately all form of sleep leaving her in less than a second and Jamie was thrown a little by the sudden and drastic change. Jaclyn went over to her dresser and pulled out a pair of jeans and a thick long sleeve shirt. She had slept in her thermals and merely threw on her jeans and shirt over them. It took her less than a minute until she was dressed and tugging on wool socks to keep her feet warm.

When she was done, Jaclyn stood looking far more serious than any fourteen year old ever should. "What do I need to bring?"

"Nothing," Jamie told her and her eyes were a little sad as she did. "Just yourself… and maybe a smile?" Jaclyn remained stone faced and Jamie winced a little. "No smile? Okay, fine, then come on."

Jamie turned and left Jaclyn's room knowing her sister would be on her heels. They trumped down the stairs and were met at the bottom by their mother. Marie was in her robe with a wad of grossly used tissues in her hand and big fuzzy slippers on her feet. She had her arms crossed over her chest and her foot tapped impatiently on the ground. Her stance was tight and controlled and Jamie gave her an appeasing smile.

"How are you feeling?"

Marie rolled her eyes at the question and sniffed horribly from a very stuffy nose. She had come down with a cold last night and had assured the girls that she was going to be perfectly fine in a few days. She just needed to rest. Jamie tried not to hide her worry at the idea of her mother being sick… if she got worse, well, Gotham didn't exactly have the best health care system at the current moment.

"I'm stuffy, hot, cold, achy, cranky, and now worried." Marie croaked and both her daughters winced when she pointed a finger and wad of tissues at them warningly. "You both go there and come right back, understand?"

"Of course," Jamie said right away and Marie narrowed her eyes at her younger daughter when she remained silent.

"Jaclyn, you listen to every little thing that Jamie says. She says run, you run, she says hide, you hide." Jaclyn didn't have a smart comeback, she just nodded gravely. Satisfied, Marie Delacroix then turned to her oldest and there was a little extra fire in her eyes. "And Jamie? If you tell her to run that means that you will be running with her. Got it?"

"Yes."

Nodding, Marie then went over to her purse on the dining room table and dug into it for a brief moment before pulling out her small handgun. Jamie's eyes grew wide as she brought it over to her. "Here, take this."

Jamie didn't touch it right away; she had never been friendly with guns. "Um, I'm not a very good shot."

"I am," Jaclyn quipped and Marie shot her a glare before taking Jamie's hands and forcibly stuffing the gun in them.

"It is loaded, this is the safety. Point and shoot."

"That simple, huh?" Jamie asked weakly and Marie did not smile back. Jamie's eyes went down to the gun in her hands feeling like she was holding onto something that could change everything about her and her life in an instant. Personally, she thought this was a little overboard for a simple trip to the grocery store. But considering what happened last time, she understood her mother's worry. Marie would have gone herself if she weren't already sick and Jamie knew this was a big stretch for her to allow Jamie to take Jaclyn with her, but there was no other way she would be able to carry all of the food home by herself.

"You better get going, you have two hours. I'll be watching the time." Marie warned and despite the gun in her hands, Jamie couldn't help but snicker at that.

Grabbing her purse, Jamie felt funny wearing it. She hadn't had the need to carry a purse since the coming of Bane, but she wore it now for the sole purpose of concealing the gun. Jaclyn eyed her carefully as Jamie put the gun out of view and cautiously brought her purse onto her shoulder.

After more warnings and threats from their mother, Jamie and Jaclyn finally made it out of the house and were silently moving down the street towards the grocery store. Without mentioning it, they turned the opposite way from the store that they would normally go to—the one closest to them. But no one was going to that store now, not with the boy's body still strung up. That meant that they had a bit of a longer walk, but Jaclyn did not seem to mind in the least. Her eyes were roaming the city surrounding her, as if she had never seen it before. For the first time Jamie realized just how imprisoned Jaclyn must have felt during these last two months. Being fourteen and the youngest in the family, they all felt the direct need to protect her, so that meant that Marie and Jamie did most of the leaving while Jaclyn remained locked away… rotting.

No wonder Jaclyn was sleeping so much, she was probably bored out of her mind.

It took them little time to make it to _Bharat Bazaar_, it was a popular grocery store run by a nice couple from India. Jamie liked going in there when she could, mainly for the crazy Hindi music they played. She would spend her time dancing her best Bollywood moves as she went up and down the aisles… funny how that felt so long ago.

There wasn't much of a line; Jamie knew that was because they were a little later than usual due to the longer walk. Still, the two sisters took their place at the back. Jaclyn, in her usual silence, watched the mercenaries at the front with their guns and their faces carved of stone—unflinching and unmoving. She stared at them so hard that Jamie couldn't help but look at well. Surprise flooded her when she saw that they were actually helping the Emergency Relief teams this time and it was moving things along much faster.

"I hate that," Jaclyn murmured.

"What?"

"That they think they can help when it's their fault that we need relief teams at all."

Jamie thought about that and pursed her lips whispering, "Better be careful with what you say while we're in here. We can talk on the way home, but for now we're just going to go easy on the comments about the mercenaries, okay?"

Her little-big sister shot Jamie a quick glance and nodded mutely. They were at the front of the line then and just as they moved to go inside one of the mercenaries was trying to enter as well with a large load in his arms. The man paused, not forcing his way through. His eyes landed on Jamie and maybe that was because she had gripped Jaclyn's arm to stop her from being rude and was staring at him as well. He had a vacant sort of smile on his face, a gun slung around his back, and a red scarf on his neck.

He didn't look particularly threatening or upset at their accidental hold up at the door, instead he waited patiently. But when Jamie didn't move, still holding tight onto Jaclyn's arm, the man finally nodded his head giving them permission to go before him.

"Thank you," Jamie said quietly and then hurried into the store dragging Jaclyn along behind her.

The two moved swiftly, grabbing a cart and began filling it with essentials. The store had a few mercenaries patrolling it, like usual, but Jamie and Jaclyn both tried to ignore them as best as they could.

More than once Jamie heard her little-big sister's stomach growl as they placed different food items into the basket. It was a hard thing and had Jamie gripping the handle on the cart until her knuckles turned white. So much had been denied and Jamie knew that her sister often tried to not eat as much as she normally would, could, or should. Jamie had been an athlete before Bane, a rising star in volleyball and basketball. She ate like a horse and the sudden change was harder on her than Jamie had first realized.

That might have been why Jamie purposefully cut in front of a middle aged man and grabbed the last carton of milk—real milk, not the powdered or canned stuff—before he could. It was something that Jamie might have been ashamed of or thought inconsiderate at another time in her life, but the growling of her sister's stomach and the fact that while Jaclyn might sleep more than she should, be generally lazy around the house, but kept silent about her complaints of hunger justified the action in Jamie's mind.

Jamie ignored the look from her little-big sister and the glare from the man as she placed the milk in the cart and pushed on. So much of this was about pushing on, not looking and pushing on. Jamie grit her teeth. She was protecting her family. She would _not_ be ashamed.

Getting to the last aisle, Jaclyn bent down over to the stack of canned green beans and grabbed six cans piling one after another into the cart. When she turned though, her movement was careless and she didn't see the mercenary in front of her and Jaclyn ran straight into the woman. Realizing what she had done, Jaclyn's eyes went wide and she backed up directly into the green bean mountain and sent all of the cans tumbling down in a horrific crash.

The sound made both sisters jump and then look to the woman in front of them in terror as if they expected her to lose it and begin shooting them. But the woman's dark eyes just stared at them completely void of any emotion, Jaclyn and Jamie both hurried over to pick up the spilled cans. They stacked them as quickly as they could and when Jamie reached for the cans that had rolled further out into the main aisle, a dark hand grabbed them before her.

Gasping in surprise, Jamie drew her hand back as if it had been bit by something deadly. Her eyes flashed up to the mercenary woman who was now kneeling on the ground holding out two cans of green beans to her. The woman's eyes, so dark that Jamie could see her reflection in them, held Jamie's and cautiously Jamie took the offered cans from her and then swiveled to the side to add them to the growing mountain.

The woman provided more of the fallen cans and Jamie silently furrowed her brows, her heart pounding away in confusion and fear as she and this mercenary made a sort of production line as they reassembled the green bean display.

It was an odd, odd thing to see.

Jamie didn't dare cast a glance at Jaclyn, she focused solely on the dangerous woman kneeling next to her. Dangerous… and kind. For some reason, Jamie thought about what Miranda Tate had told her—that kindness was a rare thing to find in Gotham. Jamie knew that to be true, which was why she was so shocked when a mercenary, someone who killed for Bane and enforced Gotham into this life like it was some failed state run by a warlord, was actually helping her… helping her pick up cans of green beans for goodness sakes!

Needless to say, she was immensely relieved when they finished. Jamie stood then, slowly, and the woman stood as well. They stared at one another, two sides of a very different currency. The woman's eyes flickered over to Jaclyn then and though Jamie didn't sense anything threatening in that look, she couldn't help herself when she shifted so that she could block as much of her sister from the gaze of this unknown woman.

The shifting brought the woman's eyes back to Jamie and there was the first flicker of emotion that she had seen in them at all. Not that Jamie could read it or understand it, but for some reason it made this woman, this mercenary, this killer so… _human_.

Shaking her head because it was getting more clouded than Jamie appreciated, she stepped back; back to the cart, back to her sister, back to reality where this woman was an enemy and Jamie wanted her thrown out of Gotham for good. The woman stood there a second longer before someone—the man with the vacant smile Jamie noted absently—called her. She went over to him soon after and Jamie slumped her upper body down over the front of the cart and breathed.

Only then did she notice that the milk carton was missing.

Staring in confusion at the noticeably empty spot, Jamie's eyes then went to the counter where the man from before—the man she had originally taken the milk from—sent her a deadly glare and pointedly placed the carton on the counter to be bagged with his own supplies.

Seeing that, just as he wanted her to, Jamie felt hope sift out of her like sand slipping through the hourglass. He had stolen the milk right out of the basket while they had simply been trying to clean up a mess… but of course, she had practically stolen it from him first. Jamie desperately tried to figure out in her mind which of them was more wrong: the man or her. She didn't know what to think about the fact that she didn't exactly have an answer.

It was a silent walk back to the house, heavy and burdened down not just with the groceries in their hands. Neither sister knew what to say and neither one noticed the mercenary silently trailing them all the way home.

* * *

**AN:** Yay, we get to go into John Blake's mind a bit in this one. Writing his point of view seems to always give me some issues and I was going to avoid it… but I thought it would be good to stretch myself. So there you go! And I know, this chapter wasn't as exciting, but each scene is necessary to set everything up just perfectly (or as perfect as I can get it…). I'm personally getting hyped because let's just say that things are about to get _very_ interesting _very_ soon and, well, once it starts this won't stop until the end. BOOM. That's why I'm taking my sweet time setting this up.

I have a family wedding this weekend, so I wanted to get this chapter up before the craziness sets in. It will probably be a week before I update next.

Thank you for the reviews and favorites and alerts and all that good stuff. Feedback is always good to get and encouraging.

Until next chapter, toodles!

LIP


	9. A Line Crossed

**_One Life_**** by TheNotoriousLIP **

* * *

**Chapter Eight: A Line Crossed**

"She has family."

There was a pause and then the mechanical rasp of air being filtered into large lungs. "How many?"

"A sister," Adenrele's eyes bored into Bane's and even though her voice was steady and strong, her throat burned. "And a mother."

"No father?"

"He is not there."

"And the detective?"

"He visits often."

"Thank you," Bane's tone was pleasant, as if he meant it. His eyes dropped back down to the illuminated computer screen he had been working on and he dismissed her. "You may leave."

Adenrele nodded tersely and turned on her heel. Her feet carried her swiftly back out to the snow dusted streets and down what was now becoming a familiar path, one that would lead her to the small brick home in which Jamie Delacroix and her family lived.

* * *

"I have a great plan! No really, don't look at me like that. I do."

The expression on Blake's face said he was not overly convinced or ready to hear this "great plan" and Jamie felt her hand that had been raised in the air in triumph falter. The young detective was slumped down in his chair, his long legs stretched out before him, elbows propped up on the armrest and head lolling on the back support of his seat. One eyebrow lifted as he looked at the girl sitting on the floor with her back pressed against the cabinet. Jamie grinned at him unashamedly. She thought he looked pretty cute like that, he normally was pretty cute, but maybe it was more now because it was the most relaxed she had ever seen him.

"Please tell me you're not wearing the rainbow wig and going down Merchant Street," he said lowly and Jamie rolled her eyes.

"_No_. This plan is much better."

"… Go ahead."

Jamie snickered at his monotone voice and then went into immediate animation. "Okay, so, what if someone walks up to Bane in the middle of a meeting or in the middle of whatever it is that he does, I mean they waltz right up to him when he's distracted and say, 'Hey Bane! Would you hold this for me for a second?' and they give him a _hand grenade_. He'll take it and they run away as fast as they can," Jamie was grinning maniacally at this point and she threw her arms to the side for effect her body bouncing a little as she did so. "He'll blow himself up!"

There was an inconceivably long moment of silence and then a drawn out sigh from Blake. "I don't think that's going to work, Jamie."

She was offended. "Why not? It is the natural human instinct to hold something for someone when asked. Especially if you catch them by surprise and just kind of stuff it in their hands before moving away."

"Yeah, but Bane is not a normal human and so normal human instincts will not be there—and why the hell am I even discussing this plan?" Blake suddenly asked, sitting up a little and shaking his head. "No. Next."

"_Sheesh_. Shoot me down, why don't you?" Jamie grumbled and let her head fall back hard against the cupboard. She picked a little at the bandages on her hands out of habit. The rope burns were healing nicely but it was still in the stage where bandages were a requirement. The massive bruises on her waist and legs that had been excruciating the first week after she had fallen off the ladder were now fading, just a little. Most of the time Jamie forgot completely about her injuries, her mind flying a million miles an hour focused on many other important things—like the fact that the bomb _was_ going to go off in a little less than three months no matter what they did.

That was what brought Jamie and Blake back to the kitchen of St. Swithuns, where everything first began. It was a neutral meeting ground for them, better than either going to the other's house and Blake seemed to feel at ease here more than anywhere else.

Jamie let her eyes shut as she brought her thoughts back into focus. Their goal today was brainstorming ways to destroy the bomb, kill Bane, and save the city.

Piece of cake.

The sad part was that aside from the hand grenade idea, they didn't have much material. It wasn't that they weren't creative or smart, it was simply that this was a situation that yielded little to no options. Jamie supposed that was what Bane had wanted in the first place, to make them desperate. But like those stories she had heard about normal no-muscle mothers lifting cars off of their children out of desperation, Jamie hoped—no she _believed_—that making Gotham this desperate might ultimately be Bane's biggest mistake.

They key was simply getting the people to reach that point. And though it was unspoken, Jamie knew Blake realized that too. There was only so much they could do with their small numbers, it was the people—twelve million who would have to rise up out of the smoke and fog that Bane was thickening the streets and their minds with. Armed mercenaries or no, twelve million would tip the scale. Of course… that meant though that things were going to have to get a lot worse before they got better.

Funny, it made her think of Harvey Dent—how he said that the night was always darkest before the dawn. Jamie hoped the night would fade and the sun would rise soon… three months was not that much time.

"You're thinking so loud over there it's giving me a headache." Jamie's head snapped up and she met Blake's curious gaze. He sent her a very tired and very small smile. "Daydreaming about blowing Bane up?"

"Something like that." She murmured and Blake stared at her like he was waiting for something more. Jamie knew what and it made her sigh heavily. She crossed her legs at the ankle and ran her bandaged palms along the top of her thighs. She kept her eyes lowered and her voice careful. "Blake… you know I can't _make_ it happen, right? I can't snap my fingers, rub a magic lamp, shake an eight ball and make God talk to me whenever I want. He—He chooses when and its usually not that convenient… my part is that I have to be ready to act. It's a waiting game."

"We're getting desperate, Jamie." Blake spoke as if the words themselves were a death sentence.

The weight of them crashed on Jamie's shoulders and she instantly felt ten pounds heavier. She choked out a little humorless laugh and looked up to the slightly cracked ceiling above her. "I know. I know we are… and I have no idea what to do."

"Maybe," the dark haired detective's voice was rough and he paused to clear his throat. "Maybe then you could tell me about what happened up on the ladder?"

Jamie slowly turned her eyes on him and she nodded. She was ready for this and he had waited long enough. Fiddling with the gauze on her hands yet again, Jamie forced herself to stop so that it wouldn't unravel. "I had a vision, I think."

"What… did you see?"

Her eyelids sank down, like little weights hung on each eyelash forcing them to shut out the present world around her and enter into a much more dangerous place. Pictures sprung into her mind like a violent wave and she couldn't stop them. So instead of letting herself be swept away, she started talking. She wasn't sure what was going to come out of her mouth, but if she didn't open it and let some of those waves pour out through her teeth then it was going to drown her.

"At first, everything around me went black—like someone had turned out the light, like the world just disappeared. That's when I think I first screamed… and then I heard the water. It was so loud, rushing and then it began roaring—but then it changed and it wasn't water anymore. It was voices, thousands of _human_ voices echoing off of the walls transforming into a chant."

"What did they say?"

Jamie felt her mouth twist. "Deshi basara. I don't even know if it is a language, but it's what I heard. I think I can still hear it—the chant, like it got locked inside of me or simply filled in a hole that I didn't know was there. Then I opened my eyes then and suddenly I wasn't in the sewers anymore. It was like I was in this desert pit, no way out but up. There were cells in the walls, and voices all around me, but no people… except for Bane." Jamie looked at Blake now, her eyes piercing. "He was at the bottom of the pit; I was on a ledge holding on with all my strength. I was so afraid. He didn't say anything, just stared at me but I felt like he was gravity in that place, you know? Pulling me down—and the voices got louder and the next thing I knew… I was falling."

The trickle of a laugh crept under the kitchen door then as a group of boys wandered past and the sound of it jolted Jamie. It made her want to laugh, too, though maybe not entirely out of joy.

"What does this mean?"

She looked at the detective's earnest face. "I don't really know, honestly. Sometimes I never find out until years later… but considering that a bomb may or may not go off in three months, I really hope I find out sooner rather than later."

Blake fell quiet, at a loss as to what to say, and Jamie wondered for a small moment if she had told him too much. She had never really shared in detail and she had certainly never had a real vision before (and she hoped she never would again). Jamie kept most of the God stuff to herself. In her experience, people were generally more comfortable in their containable little world knowing as little as possible about what other things could exist and coexist with and within humans.

But life wasn't containable. It was unpredictable, vibrant, breathing, sorrow and joy, love and loss. Life, real life, Jamie thought, wasn't like a comic book; it didn't fit into the little boxes drawn for it.

* * *

Another week passed after she and John Blake had gone to St. Swithuns to "brainstorm". They had stayed until the sun moved behind the skyscrapers and darkness was threatening to settle into the city. Conversation between them had become easier over time, Jamie didn't know exactly when it happened or how, but she was grateful nonetheless. But despite the improvement, there was a tension in the air and it wasn't between the two of them.

The city was groaning, like it was crying out for the manifestation of a solution—of justice. Jamie could hear it in the buildings and see it in the angry faces of those she passed on the streets. It was beginning: people were starting to get fed up.

In all rights, it should have scared her. This was a dangerous time, when people started becoming unstable (like the bomb, Jamie thought). But she was not afraid for once in her life. Jamie felt eerily glad. It was something a lot like vengeance but felt more like triumph… and they hadn't even done anything yet. The shifting was there though; slow and curling around Gotham like a constriction from a python.

If the city was squeezed much more, it would explode.

Blake came by twice more during the week and the visits were short and practical. He brought her family a container of precious gasoline and a camping stove that he had managed to acquire. The action touched her, deeply, and she found it hard to thank him as he stood on her porch and held it out for Jamie to take. Blake didn't have to do it, to go out of his way to help them, but he was and Jamie didn't know how to respond. Women in her family were used to carrying their own weight and to have a man be so willing to help them with no ulterior motive was… odd. But when she had hesitated at first, Blake gave her no choice. This was part of who he was, he protected people… and with the power flickering on and off but never fully shutting down, Jamie knew it was the wise thing to accept the gift.

That being said, Jamie didn't let Blake sneak away without giving him a massive squeezing sort of hug. He had seemed shocked by the abruptness of her action at first, his body very still, and then ever so slowly his arms came around to return the gesture.

Jamie pulled away quickly after that knowing her face was aflame and she promptly shut the door on his face.

It wasn't her best moment, but she figured he would understand by now.

In either of his two visits, Jamie never mentioned the fact that she knew Commissioner Gordon was purposefully excluding her from meetings that were taking place. Blake never outright told her that the police were meeting, but Jamie was not dumb. She knew it was best, considering the nature of recent news revealed to the officers, that she be excluded for the time being. The only downside was that Jamie had the distinct feeling that she was on her own.

Last time she had that feeling she ended up spending three days wandering into the People's Court of Gotham and that had ended with near horrific results. But it had ended with results… and so Jamie figured that nothing could hurt her visiting Wayne Enterprises and asking a few questions of her own. It wasn't that she thought she could get better information out of them than the police, but more along the lines of her simply being bothered that she didn't understand the full reason why God had sent her there in the first place. Let alone the vision and becoming friendly with Miranda Tate.

So what could it hurt to go there again?

Jamie grinned harshly into the bitter winter wind as Wayne Tower loomed just ahead. The gust of air stung her lips and made her teeth ache, but Jamie kept grinning anyway. At least she wasn't coming up through a sewer this time.

Nearly skipping the last few steps, Jamie reached for the large handle on the all glass door and gave it a good pull only to be met with a gun in her face.

She nearly went cross-eyed as she stared at the barrel right in front of her nose; her bandaged hands went straight up in surrender. She stuck her foot out to catch the heavy door from shutting on her small frame and slowly, cautiously, her eyes left the gun and traveled up the hand and arm and neck to the hard face of a middle aged man.

The same man who stole the milk out of her basket at the grocery store.

"_You._" The both said at the exact same time in horrible recognition.

Jamie glared openly at him which he returned with the not-so-subtle click of his gun being cocked. His eyes weren't evil, they weren't inhuman, but they weren't entirely kind and he certainly would have no problem pulling the trigger and blasting her brains out.

"What are you doing here?" The man demanded.

She hated the way he seemed to sneer at her and Jamie sucked in a quick breath to control her anger. She didn't know this man, had only had a bad experience with him because they both had wanted the same thing. She supposed she should be grateful that he hadn't been like other Gotham citizens and waited for her and Jaclyn in an alley to slice them open and take the milk just out of spite.

Even with the gun in her face and the angry man in front of her, Jamie had to remind herself to stay calm. "I'm a friend."

"There aren't many friends in Gotham." His hand was steady, holding the gun evenly now at her forehead.

Jamie nodded and took a small step inside so that the door could close and the cold wouldn't be let in. It pressed the barrel of the gun directly onto her skin since he refused to move back an inch and Jamie felt herself bristle. "I know. I don't want to make any trouble. Despite what happened at the store, I'm not actually here to see _you_. I just need to speak to Miranda Tate."

"Why don't you speak with me first?"

"I'd rather not." Her eyes flashed meaningfully but her tone stayed flat.

"Michael, please," an accented voice rang out with something that sounded like exasperated authority. "She is a friend."

Jamie's eyes flew to where the sound came from—her saving grace. The man, Michael, looked behind him as well, though he kept the gun where it was. He poked it a little further into her skin as he spoke. "You know her, Miss Tate?"

"Yes, I do," Miranda came over with that ever present smile on her face. She got close enough to bring her hand to the gun pressing into Jamie's forehead and she ever so gently drew it down. Jamie almost grinned at that, she knew that it all looked like gentleness, but from the time Miranda had cleaned her wounds, Jamie also knew the woman was stronger than she let on and had a grip like steel. "Thank you for being so diligent in keeping us safe, but you can let her pass."

Michael seemed perturbed at missing his chance of kicking Jamie out into the streets; if Jamie were younger she might have stuck her tongue out at him in defiance. But Miranda was watching her closely, her eyes drawing Jamie's like a magnet. Michael huffed then, shook his arm that held the gun and tucked it away before moving past them. He made it to the corner before throwing back one last comment with utter vehemence.

"Don't let her get the milk."

Jamie nearly burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the comment in a moment like this. Though the situation itself had caused her enough mental and moral pain, now in the scheme of things she felt like laughing until her stomach ached.

"What was that about?" Miranda's voice was lilting in its amusement. "You have certainly offended our security guard."

"Michael and I know each other… sort of," Jamie waved her hand flippantly. "Bad experience with dairy products."

The waving of her hand though caught the older woman's attention and faster than Jamie had been prepared for, Miranda snatched her hand out of the air and brought it close for an inspection. Her fingers, gentle, cool, and oddly calloused swept over Jamie's palm and gauze.

"How are your injuries?"

"Healing. I think soon my hands will be well enough to remove the bandages."

Miranda smiled knowingly then and kept Jamie's hand in her grasp. "May I see?"

Nodding, Jamie allowed her to unwrap the bandage. Miranda did so deftly, like she had done this many times before. It made Jamie wonder if she was the resident first aid assistant for Wayne Enterprises since the liberation. What an odd thing, that a woman of her stature would spend her time caring for the wounds of those around her. It only drove in the idea, like a nail into a wall, that Miranda Tate was different. Different and kind.

"You have been keeping your wounds clean," she commented with pride and gave Jamie a beautiful smile. "Well done."

"Thanks." For some reason, praise from this woman, no matter how inconsequential made Jamie's cheeks flush. She could only imagine the poor men who most likely tripped over both their feet and words in her presence.

Miranda replaced the bandage—tighter than Jamie had originally had it, but she didn't say anything. Instead she let her gaze wander over the entryway. It was massive to say the least, she had no idea how many stories high the ceiling in this room alone went. There was a large reception desk where Michael happened to be sitting and watching them suspiciously. Well, watching _Jamie_ suspiciously. The place as a whole was silent, sterile, and cold like most businesses in Gotham, but Jamie knew that just beyond the double doors next to the desk was a mass of people—Wayne Enterprises employees huddled below the balcony with small fires lit to stay warm.

There was pressure on her hand and Jamie looked down to see Miranda pressing her thumb into her palm like she had done before. It made Jamie wince but Miranda, pleased that she had gotten the other girl's attention, smiled innocently. She then silently led Jamie through the double doors where the sound of people and life and a considerable greater amount of warmth met them.

Jamie leaned over the edge of the railing trying to see if she could get a glimpse of Lucius Fox, but he was nowhere to be found. There were, however, probably about forty to fifty people down there.

"So, my friend," Miranda's voice was full of mirth as she led Jamie over to a bench that had been pushed against the wall. She sat down and lightly patted the place next to her. "What brings you to visit today?"

"Um, I wanted to ask some questions." Miranda's eyebrows rose expectantly and Jamie felt her own crease. "I know about the bomb—that Wayne Enterprises made it."

"Ah, Lucius spoke to your detective."

Jamie wasn't so sure why, but she made a face at the way Miranda said _your_ detective. John Blake wasn't hers in the least; she hadn't staked a claim on him. They were only just now able to have conversations without so many of the awkward pauses rising up. But Miranda said the words as if it were a fact—simple and true.

"Yes," Jamie said slowly. "He did speak with Lucius… I also know it is deteriorating and we have three months before it melts down completely—"

"Two and a half." Jamie's eyes shot up and locked on Miranda. The older woman just smiled sadly. "We have two and a half months."

Biting her lip, Jamie stared hard at Miranda. "Is there a way you can disable it?"

"Your detective has already been by to ask this question."

"He's not my detective," Jamie said before she could stop herself. Miranda looked as if she wanted to roll her eyes, but propriety most likely stopped the action.

"I will tell you the same thing I told him. We can disable the bomb by reconnecting it to the reactor, but to do that we must first get to the reactor and it is heavily guarded by Bane's men," when Miranda saw whatever hope had quickly risen in Jamie fall and drain out just as fast she laughed softly and the sound was like bells ringing off of the walls. "You did not think that Bane would leave something so valuable unprotected?"

"No," Jamie shook her head and felt herself deflate. "I guess not. I was just hoping…"

Leaning over to rest her arms on her legs, Jamie held her head in her hands and stared at the ground. If this was all she was going to get today, why had she come? There had to be something, there _had_ to be. Everything had a purpose and God told her to come here and she listened. She went through the tunnels, fell off of a ladder, tore up her hands, met one of the board members of Wayne Enterprises, found out incredibly important information about the bomb… so why couldn't she shake the feeling that there was still something more that she was supposed to find here?

"I am sorry, Jamie."

Jamie raised her head slowly out of the grip of her hands and turned to look at the woman next to her. It was one of the first times she had seen Miranda Tate without a little smile playing on her lips. She looked sad and it was almost unfair how someone, no matter what they felt, looked so beautiful feeling it. Whether her eyes were teasing or weighed down by sorrow, Miranda was truly a stunning woman to look at.

Realizing she had been staring, Jamie shook her head and her eyes squinted a little, not understanding. "For what?"

Miranda spoke with guilt clear in her tone. "Wayne Enterprises created the bomb, but my personal money funded the entire project. It was my idea. I dreamed of being able to give a city clean energy and provide a sense of security to the people of Gotham… It appears I have done the opposite and for that I am sorry."

Jamie's hand reached over and she grabbed Miranda's and gave it a squeeze. Technically she should hate this woman for creating the tool that imprisoned them all, but a tool was just a tool. It was who wielded it that was truly to blame and Jamie knew who truly held the weapon in his hands.

_Bane_.

"Do you at least know where the reactor is?" A heavy breath escaped Jamie's mouth and she sat up and leaned back against the wall for support. Miranda, however, stayed sitting like a lady with perfect posture.

"Yes."

"Can you take me there?" Jamie sat straight up, grinning immediately in excitement; but Miranda was already shaking her head and when she spoke her voice was quiet and kind but firm in her answer.

"I am sorry, but it would be a waste of both of our time. As I told you, Bane's men heavily guard it."

A hand came to Jamie's shoulder and the pressure was just as firm. Casting a sideways glance, Jamie saw genuine sorrow and understanding in Miranda's face. Jamie began playing with her bandages again. "We've run out of ideas, you know. I sat for nearly five hours the other day on a kitchen floor brainstorming on how to kill Bane. I mean, I tried to think of everything but mostly spent my time imagining simply him blowing to pieces."

Jamie chuckled a little at the idea but heard no response whatsoever from the woman next to her. There was an itch on Jamie's cheek where she could feel a chill from Miranda's suddenly icy gaze.

"You… would wish to kill him, if you had the chance? Do you think you would be able to take the life of another?"

"I don't know," Jamie said lowly and turned to meet the ice head on. She couldn't put a name to what she saw but it made her decidedly uncomfortable. "It's hard to wish for anyone to be dead or to kill them. But… it's like this burns inside of me—a fire that I can't put out and it rises every time I think about the situation we're in, which is all the time. I guess what I wish for most is a way to stop this bomb, but if killing Bane is the only way we can do that—then yes," Jamie spoke with finality feeling the fire blaze under her skin and through her bones. "I would wish for him to die."

Fire and ice clashed and Jamie suddenly felt like daring Miranda to judge her for voicing what she wished. She would not take back what she said or what she felt. It was no little thing to want death on another human being, but Jamie realized as she went ablaze that she would wish for Bane's death a thousand times over if it saved the lives of all of Gotham. Maybe that made her a bad person, maybe it meant that she was no better than the average citizen who took a gun to get what they wanted… but Jamie couldn't deny it.

She hated Bane, she hated this liberation, and she would see them all thrown out of Gotham if it was the last thing that she did.

"I admire your determination, Jamie," Miranda said at last and something seemed to settle inside of the other woman as well. Like she finally saw what she needed to see and had made up her mind. "Meet me here in three days at noon. I will take you to see the building in which the reactor is held. I make no promises as to getting you inside, but I will show you the location and you can do with it what you wish."

"Really?" Jamie turned unbelievingly to Miranda. She felt a tremor, tiny but it rolled like the push and pull of the ocean, and Jamie couldn't help the smile that stretched across her lips. _This_ was why she had come. "Thank you so much!"

Unlike other times, Jamie gratefully resisted from reaching forward and snatching Miranda into one of her bone crushing hugs. She settled for tapping her feet excitedly on the cold tile. Miranda did not smile though and there was a combination of sadness and a sort of resignation in her ancient eyes. Not for the first time Jamie wondered what had happened to her in her life.

But she didn't get to think on it very long because Miranda stood abruptly and Jamie followed her example. The older woman silently turned to walk towards the double doors that would spill them out into the entryway. Jamie did not follow though, her eyes drifted back to the elevators—the ones she had been in when she and Blake came up from the pit… and then Jamie got an idea.

"Hey Miranda?" The woman stopped and turned to look at her. "I think I might go back down the pit actually. It might be safer, you know, being out of sight. I don't want to draw too much attention to Wayne Enterprises."

"Safer," Miranda repeated and Jamie nodded. "As you wish."

Jamie quickly walked over and pressed the down button and then stepped back and waited. She hadn't even heard Miranda approach, let alone come up beside her. Her voice sounding so close made Jamie nearly jump out of her skin.

"Be careful, Jamie Delacroix," Miranda reached forward and her fingers cupped under Jamie's chin raising her head so she could search her face. A thumb brushed along her jaw in near extreme gentleness and the action made Jamie shiver. She felt like she was frozen even though the ice from Miranda's eyes was gone. "Fire is an uncontrollable force and I would not wish to see you burn before your time."

Blinking, Jamie did not know what to say to that and so she stepped back and Miranda let her. The elevator doors dinged open and Jamie quickly moved inside. Miranda stood at the doors, watching her seriously.

"Three days," she told Jamie and the younger girl nodded as the doors shut.

* * *

There are moments which mark your life. Moments when you realize that nothing will ever be the same and time is divided into two parts: before this and after this. Sometimes you can feel such a moment coming. That's the test. At times like that, Jamie told herself that strong people keep moving forward anyway, no matter what they're going to find.

She had taken a different path than the one Blake had marked and Jamie wasn't entirely sure why, except that if Bane's people had used these tunnels for months, then there had to be another exit. And there was, Jamie soon discovered. It led her out to the now unused subway and the gravel crunched under her feet as she walked towards the light ahead. Jamie tried to memorize her path so she could find it again if she needed to. It hadn't taken her nearly as long to reach the surface as it had when she had climbed into the manhole. So she couldn't be _that_ far from Wayne Tower.

The light was just before her and Jamie squinted at the sudden onslaught as it grew stronger and stronger. It hurt her eyes, it was so bright. She paused to rub her eyes and only then did she hear the softly murmuring voices.

Stifling a gasp, Jamie moved and pressed her back against the concrete wall, her fingertips splayed out to find a grip behind her that was not there. There were five mercenaries through the opening ahead, they were walking past, distracted in their conversation. Each one was armed, carrying weapons but not looking particularly threatening at the moment. For some reason, Jamie knew instantly that these were not Bane's men.

Her jaw clamped shut and she ignored the flare of pain that ignited in her hands as she now closed them into fists. The men hadn't seen her yet and if she could stay silent and hidden in the shadows, they would just walk past without even knowing she was there. She drew in a breath and waited as they crossed the opening of the subway tracks, she was almost in the clear… until she heard the laugh.

Jamie's head shot up and she felt horror wash over her. She _knew_ that laugh.

The sky was clear and the sun was nearly blinding in its brightness, but that did not stop Jamie from recognizing the armed man at the back of the group. His walk was familiar, his eyes sharp and his hair speckled with gray. He carried a machine gun in his hands and ammo was wrapped in a belt around his waist.

It was her father.

* * *

**AN:** *grins* I know, I said I wouldn't be updating... but SURPRISE! And yeah, I _had_ to leave it here… And I know, I know… AREN'T YOU ALL READY FOR SOME ACTION?! *sighs* Me, too. Silly plot and having to stick with it so everything works out. Bleh. Anyway, at least the next chapter is the beginning of, well, really I guess what you could call the second arc of this story (ha, Joan of Arc… sorry, bad joke). Gah I am finally nearly done setting things up, YAY. Sorry if the pace has been too slow, but things are definitely going to pick up.

Thank you reviewers and silent readers! It's a blast writing this for myself but also writing it for you just adds to the fun.

Until next chapter, toodles!

LIP


	10. The Lion's Den

_**One Life**_** by TheNotoriousLIP**

* * *

**Chapter Nine: The Lion's Den**

Her father. Her _father_. _Her father_.

It replayed in her mind like a broken record that became more and more distorted as it scratched on. The man she had spent her childhood idolizing and her teenage years despising had done it again. Seven years ago he had left their family for his mistress, a woman half of her mother's age, and now all these years later Jamie wasn't sure which betrayal was worse. At that time he had simply been a marked man—an adulterer—but now? Her father wasn't just marked, he was _stained_ and it was a stain the deep, dark, rich color of spilled innocence.

Blood.

That was not something that would come off or be scrubbed out, not in Jamie's mind… ever.

Tendrils of pain snaked up her arms like a thorny vine as her fingernails gouged new wounds on her already injured palms, but she did not care. She was sure that a great deal of shame would come from this discovery, from him, later, but right now she was far too angry to feel anything else. There had been rumors spreading like a disease throughout the city that Bane was recruiting average Gothamites into his liberation; rumors that he would give them guns and a chance to live in a time of utter uncertainty. All that they had to do was pledge their utmost loyalty to him.

Jamie didn't understand how you could pledge your loyalty to a man whose face you had never seen, whose voice you had never really heard.

The wall was hard and unyielding against her shaking back. The moment of shocked stillness had long passed, as had her father, and now Jamie tried to control her trembling limbs and the dry, choking rasp of her throat as she struggled to fill her lungs with air. She laid her head against the freezing, smooth concrete willing the cold to seep into her body and wash away the hot, filling lump in her chest and throat. She had been with him, the day Bane invaded Gotham. It had been his birthday.

After John Blake had taken their car, after they had traced it with the GPS to the hospital, after they had found out that a masked man had taken control of this city and used a nuclear bomb to do so, her father had taken her home and then he had left her and her family to fend for themselves once again. Jamie assumed he wanted to go make sure his other family—_Nicole_—was safe.

It hurt, when he left, but it didn't surprise Jamie either. Leaving them was something they all expected him to do.

She never expected him to do this.

Suddenly infuriated by the feeling of scorching hot tears sliding down her cheeks, Jamie pushed off of the wall with her shoulder and shoved her way out of the shadows and out of the mouth of the subway. That man did not deserve her tears, not anymore. He did not deserve her pity, her fear, her hurt, nothing. He only deserved her hatred—and she did hate him with everything that she was. She had for years, but she hid it away with smiles that didn't reach her eyes and comforting words to Jaclyn and her mother that she didn't really mean.

There was no denying that Allen Prokop was an asshole of the worst kind, but now he was a _murdering_ asshole. It made Jamie instantly glad that her father was nowhere to be seen at the moment; she didn't know what she would do if he was still anywhere nearby.

The gravel gave way under her small, angry steps making it more difficult to walk as her feet sank into the ground. Once back in the light, she turned in a circle momentarily confused as to where exactly she was, and then Jamie looked straight up. Gotham was a city that was built for giants or at least people who believed they were giants. You didn't know exactly which building was in front of you unless you turned your gaze to the sky and peered at the heights of the skyscrapers. From the sky, everything was recognizable; from the ground it was so much different.

The large "W" on Wayne Tower glinted in the sun and Jamie glared at it and turned north sharply. She paid next to no attention to her surroundings as she followed the familiar path home. Her thoughts were like an angry tornado, roaring and mutating and twisting around her like a mass of tangled black string; which was probably why she missed the street that her house was on and only realized that once she was two roads past it.

Stopping abruptly, her arms were straight as a rod and she growled. Maybe she should just keep going and walk this off, she was in no condition to see anyone like this.

And then suddenly there was a hand on her shoulder. The owner snuck up from behind and Jamie lost all thought at that exact moment. She whipped around simultaneously ripping the hand off of her and prepared to launch herself at her attacker. Jamie wasn't much of a fighter, not even a scrapper, but at this point she would have probably scratched out someone's eyes without giving it a second thought… if only those eyes didn't belong to a certain detective.

"Whoa," John Blake had his hands up defensively and immediately took a step back from the crazed girl. "It's just me."

Breathing raggedly, Jamie squinted and pointed at him accusingly. "Why did you sneak up on me?"

His hands were no longer up but he stayed where he was. From the unsure look he was giving her, Jamie was glad he chose to keep his distance. "I didn't sneak up on you. I was calling your name and you stopped walking. I thought you heard me."

"Well, I didn't."

"Obviously," Blake scoffed and then his intelligent eyes trailed up and down her body pausing on her hands and the warm flush on her face and neck. The gaze wasn't anything other than calculating, but Jamie felt itchy under it and wanted to cross her arms over her chest. Blake read her in an instant. His gaze narrowed as it reached her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I can't talk right now."

"The hell you can't," he took that step forward now, invading her space. Jamie tried to match his advance with a step back but strong hands grabbed onto her arms and held her in place. Blake ducked his head to catch her eye. "What's wrong Jamie?"

She sucked in a sudden breath and her eyes locked onto his. Twenty different answers flew through her head; from telling him to get the hell out of her way to screaming that her father was a murdering asshole. Neither would do much good, so Jamie settled for a one word answer through gritted teeth.

"_Nothing_."

His eyes narrowed like slits. "Bullshit."

"_Shut up_. You don't know anything."

"Maybe I would if you'd tell me what the hell is going on!"

Jamie tried to shake herself from his grasp then but Blake only tightened his grip. Her eyes flashed. "There is _nothing_ going on and my only problem is that you are in my way."

"Good luck getting me to move then."

Jamie glowered at him, wanted to hit him and just go on her way. Seeing her father had not only gouged open new wounds but had picked on the festering old ones as well and it put Jamie in no mood to be around anyone. She had enough to deal with today alone.

But Blake wasn't intimidated by her anger, he merely glared right back. Jamie jerked once in his hold out of sheer defiance as they stared each other down, she knew her strength was not physical; she could not rip herself away from him even if she tried with all of her might. Her strength lay in her will. And so despite his demands, Jamie knew that if she didn't want to talk, there was no way that anyone—not even detective John Blake—could make her talk.

Going utterly still, the nineteen year old drew in a breath and spoke slowly and clearly. "Let. Go. Of. Me."

"_No_."

"I swear to God, Blake—"

Whatever she had been about to say immediately died on her tongue as Blake's eyes flickered above her head distracted by something behind her. She watched as his face suddenly transformed from set and determined to something completely unreadable. Without warning, he grabbed her arm in an iron grip and turned Jamie around.

"Walk with me." It was not a request. She had no choice but to go with him as he led her further away from her house towards the elementary that divided Jamie's neighborhood and the next one over.

"Aren't we going the wrong way?" She asked and then unsuccessfully attempted to point behind her with the arm Blake had a hold of. "My house is back there."

"I know," Blake said simply and then did the oddest thing. Jamie flinched as he suddenly drew her into his side and dropped a warm arm around her shoulders tucking her in close. As he did so, he casually glanced over his shoulder and Jamie felt him tense.

She couldn't help herself when she squirmed a little, not even able to enjoy the extra warmth or the closeness of a man that she had already pegged as very attractive, but Blake's arm refused to let her budge.

"Stay calm." His voice was a quiet command and he didn't look at her as he spoke, his gaze was straight ahead. Something was wrong and if it weren't for the tenseness emanating from him, she would have thought he was just taking her for a stroll around the block. Jamie tried to look behind them but Blake shook his head. "Don't. Just keep looking ahead."

It was then that she noticed his other hand resting lightly on the concealed gun he carried around his waist. That made the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up.

"What's going on?"

"Just walk with me a bit." Blake steered them off of the main road and to the right down a side street. They continued this odd and uncomfortable walk with Jamie trying to match his long strides and Blake trying to look relaxed even though he was as tense as a bowstring right up to a blue two story house. It was the third house down the street on the right and the only one with a stone porch railing. Jamie didn't know who lived there and she didn't think Blake did either. He moved them to the other side of the railing so that they were slightly hidden from prying eyes on the main road.

There was a squeeze on her shoulder, just one, and then he was turning her around so that she fully faced him. Jamie wasn't used to him manhandling her like this and she didn't particularly like it; especially when Blake stepped forward forcing Jamie to step back. He advanced until her back hit the wall of the house with a dull _thud_. Feeling utterly cornered, she must have given Blake a bit of a wild look because he offered her a small smile and appeared sincerely apologetic.

His brown eyes flashed to the main road they had just turned off of and then back to Jamie. There was indecision in them, like he was standing on the edge of some invisible cliff and was trying to decide if he should jump. After a moment, he nodded to himself and spoke in little white puffs of air, "Don't panic, okay?"

"What do you mean?" Jamie breathed, her voice suddenly disappearing at the closeness of the man before her. Her heart was pounding, trying to tear a hole in her chest and escape. She wondered if he could hear it, or see her pulse beating away on her neck. But John Blake's eyes weren't on her neck, they, oddly enough, were on her feet. For some reason as he stared at them he got a funny little smile on his face and some of the tension drained out of him. His gaze rose slowly as he moved forward, inching closer to let her get used to the idea.

Somewhere in her mind, she knew instinctively what this meant, what he was about to do. Still, Jamie froze, absolutely froze.

Blake stepped close enough that she could feel his warmth on the bare skin of her face and neck and she wondered if that was partially imagined or if he really was that warm. Another two steps and he had closed in completely and was pinning her to the wall with his body and Jamie forgot how to breathe.

Hands came to her hips, light and hesitant one instant and then confident the next—like his eyes. Those hands slid around to her lower back and Jamie couldn't help but gasp when Blake pulled her flush against him from knees to shoulders. Jamie leaned her head back, frightened and unsure, and one of his hands left her waist and cupped the side of her face. It drew her attention to his eyes, her own comically wide, and then down to his lips where he wet them with his tongue just barely. For some reason, that of all things, made Jamie do exactly what he told her not to do.

She panicked.

Her hands went to his chest, shoving him away as hard as she could and her head twisted to the side, her voice barely audible. "_What are you—_?"

Fast as lightning, Blake grabbed her chin and forced her face back to his. Jamie, even in her adrenaline rush and absolute panic, hadn't been able to move an inch away from the man.

"Hey! Jamie, I said _don't panic_." His tone was low enough that it had a raspy quality and the sound of it caused Jamie to go still. Blake nodded in approval and his hand instantly became gentle on her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek in a familiar way, like he had the day she had fallen from the ladder.

Not able to stand it anymore, Jamie sounded tiny and very vulnerable when she spoke. "Can you please tell me what's going on?"

Hands were back at her hips and Blake suddenly leaned in as if he were going to kiss her. Jamie felt the panic swell in her chest again, choking her. But Blake didn't kiss her, he turned at the last minute, pressing his warm cheek against hers and when he spoke she could feel the rumble in his chest and his lips barely brushing the edge of her ear. She shivered.

"You're being followed, Jamie. So try and act normal for a second while I figure this out."

Normal, Jamie thought distantly as Blake did not pull away. He dipped his head again, nuzzling just below her ear. His breath was hot and so opposite of the cold world around them that Jamie couldn't seem to focus on anything else but that. Normal. His nose ran down the length of her neck leaving a fiery trail and Jamie bit her bottom lip when his hands tightened their grip on her hips pulling her even closer. Normal.

She was pinned between the brick wall of a house and the hard body of a detective in the midst of a war torn Gotham. Normal.

What _was_ normal in this situation?

"Shit." Blake exhaled and his mouth went back to her ear tickling her slightly. "To your left crossing the street now—see her?"

Jamie tilted her head back against the wall and turned to the side just enough to catch a glimpse of the mercenary woman glancing their way. She was far enough away that Jamie would have never really taken notice of her before, but she saw her now and what Jamie saw made her blood run cold in her suddenly too warm skin. This was not the first time she had seen this woman. Jamie remembered her face, dark and unreadable with skin smooth as coffee and nearly emotionless eyes.

"Oh God…" Jamie moaned. Her arms came up on their own accord and wrapped round Blake's neck as she pulled him toward her. "Yes, I see her. And she sees us."

Blake shifted then, turning so that his back blocked out any sight of Jamie completely from the woman's eyes and his hand was firm on one side of her neck. "She was tailing you when you passed by your street today." Lips, burning and lightly chapped pressed against her skin just below her ear and despite where they were and what was going on, Jamie's eyes slid closed and she very nearly forgot about the woman—until Blake spoke again and his voice changed. He was angry, very angry. "I don't know _what_ you've done, but you got their attention."

His hand squeezed her neck once to reinforce his point and then he went back to nuzzling her in this false show of love and Jamie felt her brain get fuzzy on the details. He was angry. He was angry with her. His lips felt good. Jamie shook her head and forced her mind to focus.

"I know her, Blake," Jamie's fingers ached from the frozen air around them. They traveled from Blake's shoulder to his neck and ghosted around to the back of his head. His hair was feathery soft and Jamie slid her fingers right through it. This time it was Blake's turn to shiver and Jamie didn't know if it was from the shock of her icicle-like fingers or something else. "I've seen her before. She was at the store when Jaclyn and I went to get food. She helped me pick up something that I dropped, looked right at me… and Jaclyn."

Blake froze. "When was this?"

"A few weeks ago."

Colorful curses flew out of his mouth and into her ear and Jamie felt her brows rise at the sound of them. And then he sucked in one deep breath, his hands automatically tugging her hips closer to him and Jamie could practically hear him thinking furiously.

"Okay," he breathed at last and Jamie felt the stubble on his face rub against her skin. "I need you to calmly walk down to your house and get your family to pack up and pack light. They probably know where you live, so we've got to move you. You have one hour."

Jamie blanched and tried to pull away from him, her voice rising. "But we can't just—"

Lips, firm and now slightly wet, kissed her earlobe and then back down to that spot just below her ear where they lingered for a few long, long seconds and Jamie could not help the tremor that shot through her. If he did that to shut her up, well, it worked.

"One hour. Do as I say."

Abruptly the detective's lean form pulled away from her and the cold air rushed in as if it had been held back by a dam. Jamie wrapped her arms around herself missing the warmth, her mouth open, thoroughly confused. Blake was looking back to the main street, the woman was nowhere to be seen now, but Jamie had a feeling that she wasn't really gone.

"I'll see you in one hour." He told her as he stepped to the side so she would have room to leave, his eyes carefully blank when he turned them on her.

"What are you—?"

Grabbing her by the shoulders once more, Blake gave her a little push back onto the street. "_Go_."

* * *

In the short time of her assignment, she had gotten to know the girl without ever having spoken to her.

For example, Adenrele knew that the girl had family and was particularly protective of her younger sister, she knew that she talked to herself when she was alone—would sing when she was bored or wanting to fill up the silence of the city. She knew that she had a bad voice and couldn't carry a tune for the life of her but she sounded happy singing nonetheless. She knew that she was stupid enough to wear a red beanie most days because she liked the flare of color and either wasn't aware or didn't care that it made her instantly visible to anyone on the street.

This girl was different from most of Gotham's citizens, wandering the streets day after day like she was not afraid. And even when Adenrele could tell that she was afraid, she kept coming back out. Then there was the oddest thing of all: the girl was trusted by the police. That was one thing that the mercenary could not figure out. Why in the world would the cops in this city trust a teenage girl, one who obviously had no combat skill, no experience… what made them trust someone like her?

It was the question that had been plaguing the Sierra Leone woman for a week now and she had no answers. Bane wanted answers, but Adenrele was finding them difficult to get. So far there had been no sign of the Commissioner. The young detective was the only one usually seen with her and they seemed friendly enough. But now, after what she just saw, Adenrele had new questions.

Doing what she did for a living, the mercenary had gotten pretty good at reading body language. She knew when someone was going to go for their gun or when they were going to run, she knew when someone was lying to hide something and when they were just babbling to buy time. But seeing the detective and Jamie Delacroix crushed against some house embracing like long lost lovers was not something Adenrele had been expecting from either of them.

It made her instantly suspicious.

Her target had emerged a few minutes later, flushed but hurriedly backtracking to her house. Adenrele was going to follow, but then realized that the detective had not yet come out. Fingering her gun, Adenrele peered around the thick telephone pole and waited.

Detective John Blake's lean form appeared shortly after and he went the opposite way heading past the school and towards another nearby neighborhood. Pursing her lips, Adenrele took a chance and began following him instead.

She waited until he was a good distance before silently shadowing the path he took. His walk was fast paced, careful, and his eyes sweeping over his surroundings every now and then and Adenrele stayed further behind him than she normally did with the girl just in case is powers of observation were better than hers.

The detective turned a sharp corner and Adenrele realized this was a street that could lead them directly back to Jamie's neighborhood… odd. Hitching her gun up higher, Adenrele moved as silent as death.

But moving as silent as death wasn't much help when she turned the corner and a two by four piece of wood smashed directly into her face.

* * *

"_Sir, we have a problem._"

The voice, young and earnest, crackled over the radio sitting on the kitchen counter. The red light on it lit up flashing in time with the inflections of the voice on the other end. Gordon had blueprints spread out over the coffee table and he stood up from the couch immediately and grabbed the radio.

"What's the problem?" He asked with a sense of dread.

"_I caught a mercenary tailing Jamie_. _We need to move her—now_."

Gordon frowned at the radio. "What about the tail?"

"_I took care of it_."

There was a beat of silence.

"You just put a price on your head for this girl, rookie."

"_There's been a price on my head since I put on the badge, Commissioner_."

The frown on Gordon's face deepened and he fell quiet for a long moment. He decided right then and there that despite all of the coincidences surrounding this girl and the information she brought in, she was causing far too much trouble. He would not risk the lives of his men, not when they had so little time left and even fewer good cops. Now, more than ever, they had to be careful.

Sighing, the police Commissioner picked up the radio. "Alright, move her and then bring her to me. It's time we had a talk."

"_Yes, sir_."

There was yet another long pause, as if Gordon was trying to decide whether he should speak or not, and then, "You better know what you're doing, son."

And unlike the Commissioner, there was no hesitation from the radio as it crackled back immediately. "_I do_."

* * *

Her knuckles were already stiff and aching from the extended exposure to the cold, but now it was like hitting her fist against broken glass as Jamie pounded hard on the door. But she didn't stop knocking until she heard the telltale clicks and slide of the locks and deadbolt. Her mother appeared moments later and Jamie hardly waited for the door to be open all the way before she burst right into action. She had one hour and knowing Marie Delacroix, Jamie would need every minute she could get.

"Mom!" Jamie was breathing like she had just ran a marathon and her eyes flickered over to Jaclyn who rose from the couch immediately. Jamie turned back to her mother. "I need you to listen to me, okay? We don't have much time so I can't answer all of your questions and I promise I will later, but right now we have to pack up and move."

Shocked, Marie shook her head. "What are you talking about?"

"Go upstairs," Jamie turned to Jaclyn knowing that her little-big sister would listen. "Pack what you can. We're leaving."

Jaclyn didn't say a single word; she nodded solemnly and then sprinted up the stairs skipping two steps at a time. Jamie watched her go briefly and then turned back to her mother.

"You found a way out of the city?" Marie's voice was unbearably hopeful and Jamie noticed then that she had a gun in her hands. It was pointed at the floor, held loosely in her mother's grip. It was an odd thing to see, but Jamie supposed she had scared them half to death with nearly pounding down the door.

Swallowing, Jamie shook her head. "No. We're moving."

Without waiting for an answer, Jamie walked past her mother to the small storage closet tucked into the wall by the stairs. She opened it up and grabbed two suitcases and pulled them out. They wouldn't hold too much stuff, but Jamie didn't think they would be able to carry away their entire house in one trip. Quickly kneeling on the floor, Jamie unzipped one and double checked that it was empty and then did the same to the other. She stood then and handed one to her mother.

Marie did not take it from her. She stood with her arms crossed and a hard expression on her face.

"Jamie Marie, you have better talk to me right this instant."

"We don't have much time," Jamie explained again and when her mother only raised an eyebrow, she continued hurriedly. "I—I got into some trouble and Bane's people have figured out where we live," Jamie ignored the widening of her mother's eyes and the fear she saw there. She ignored it and shook the suitcase impatiently for her mother to take and continued on. "So you need to get whatever you want and pack it. Blake's moving us to a new place."

"What have you done?"

The accusation in Marie's voice stung and Jamie's mouth twisted at the sound of it. She suddenly thought about her father, the one person in this city who they should be asking that question to. Jamie wondered if she should tell her mother, just to show her that there were much worse things that she could be doing these days. But the words and bitter truth never left Jamie's mouth. Instead, she bit her tongue and this time shoved the suitcase in her mother's arms roughly.

"_I_ haven't done anything but try to help this city."

"You are nineteen years old. What can you do to help?" Marie took the suitcase and then promptly dropped it. "_What can you do?_"

"I can change things."

"People are being hung for doing less." Jamie froze at her mother's words; unexpected hurt flowed through her like a river. Silently, Jamie bent down and took her own suitcase and turned around to go up the stairs. Her mother's voice chased her the whole ascent. "I _told_ you to be careful! You promised me, remember?"

Jamie kept walking, reaching the second level of their home and then she stopped and slowly turned around. Marie was half way up the stairs and Jamie looked down at her sadly.

"I know I did, mom. But at this point we _are_ going to die. That bomb is going to go off in two and a half months whether Bane chooses to detonate it or not. He lied, it's a time bomb and it is deteriorating. So, there's a good chance I'm going to die no matter what I do or what I promised. I'd rather be doing this than nothing. I'd rather die than do nothing."

Her words echoed slightly in the stairwell and Jamie stood firm in both stance and what she said.

"The bomb is going to go off?" Marie whispered after a long moment.

"Yes."

"Dear God, help us." Her mother's hand rose to her head, holding it and she fell back against the wall.

Jamie quickly slipped back down the steps to where her mother was. Sudden tear drops fell from her mother's closed eyes, gathering at her thick lashes and then plopping down onto her cheeks and shirt. Jamie reached up and brushed them away with the odd feeling that she and her mother had somehow switched places. Pulling her mother forward, Jamie brought her into a hug. She wasn't sure she had true comfort to give, true peace to offer, but Jamie hoped that the physical touch would be enough for the moment.

"What about the voice? I mean, hearing God about all of this has to mean something, right? He's been talking to you about this for years!" Marie's voice was thick and wet sounding and Jamie bit her bottom lip. She had been wondering the same thing, honestly. There was so much about God that she did not understand. There were so many questions that were left unanswered, always unanswered. But maybe that's what faith was, believing and hoping without seeing.

And maybe she was never supposed to understand, maybe once you understood you died because you were never meant to know the whole thing. Jamie wasn't sure.

"I don't know. That's why I'm doing whatever He says. I figure He wouldn't be talking to me if He didn't want to help us win." Marie didn't say anything, but she was calming down and breathing deeper than before. Jamie gently let go and moved back. "We have one hour, mom. Hurry."

* * *

"That was fast."

Jamie glanced at the duffle bag that Jaclyn had just dropped rather heavily at her feet. Her little-big sister stood in her doorway with her arms crossed and a face that finally, considering the situation they were in, didn't seem too serious. In fact, Jaclyn's usual harsh expression seemed rather fitting.

"I was prepared," Jaclyn said simply and then stepped further into the room as if she were stepping forward to enter into service. "What can I do to help?"

Jamie didn't comment on the fact that her sister had pre-packed her bag in case of an evacuation. She didn't ask why and she didn't really want to know. Jamie had certainly never thought about preparing for such a thing, maybe Jaclyn really was made for situations like this. Jamie wasn't sure whether to be proud or saddened by that fact. So she turned her eyes away and back to the suitcase she was stuffing clothes into and rattled off instructions that she knew Jaclyn would follow.

"Take your stuff downstairs and start packing the food. You can throw in a few pictures, too. Not many, choose three. We have to keep everything to one bag—so don't overload. We'll only have enough for one bag for you, one bag for me, one for mom, and one for everything else. I think we might be able to come back at some point and grab other things. But right now, just the bare necessities."

There was a hesitant hand on her shoulder and Jamie hadn't seen it coming. It shocked her to say the least; Jaclyn was never really one to initialize such a thing. But her little sister's eyes were concerned and her mouth was worried, something that Jamie did not see on her sister's pretty face often. "Jamie… are you okay?"

The question was loaded and Jamie didn't want to answer it. She wasn't sure when or _if_ she would even tell her mother and sister about what she had discovered by the subway tunnels. If they knew, she didn't think it would do them any good and if they didn't know, well, what difference would it make? It might only bring more heartache in a time of brokenness.

Not sure what to say, Jamie reached up and grabbed her sister's hand giving it a squeeze. "Yeah, baby girl," she said using their mother's nickname for them. She smiled and it didn't reach her eyes. "I will be."

Jamie hated lying.

Thirty minutes later, Jamie was done. She had stuffed her bag to near bursting and was tromping down the steps letting the wheels of the suitcase assist in bringing it down the stairway. Marie was still in her bedroom, packing away, and when Jamie came downstairs she saw Jaclyn waiting with two bags lined up at her feet. One was her duffle and the other was a large open handled bag stuffed with food and picture frames and a few other items.

Struck dumb again by her little-big sister, Jamie grinned at her and this time it felt more real. "I'm proud of you, Jaclyn."

Jaclyn returned a small smile and Jamie then maneuvered her suitcase in line with the others. A small beeping from her wrist watch went off then and Jamie pulled back the sleeve of her sweater and checked the time. They had ten more minutes to pack up their lives. Jamie couldn't help but wonder at how strange that was.

She was about to go to the base of the stairs to call up to their mother, but Marie was already making her way down them her suitcase dropping with a heavy thump on every step. It made Jamie grin again and wonder what in the world her mother must have stuffed in that bag. But then at a second thought, Jamie frowned wondering how in the world her mother was going to lug that thing… well… wherever it was that Blake was taking them.

Jaclyn went to help their mother with her bag on the last few steps and the fourteen year old easily lifted it over towards the others. They all stood there then, in silence, with absolutely no idea what to say or do. It wasn't entirely awkward; it was weighty. Jamie glanced around, the fact hitting her that this may be her last time ever being in this house. She had already spent her last night here and she hadn't even known it would be her last night when she lay her head down on her pillow. It was surreal.

They were saved from enduring the memories that were no doubt flooding their minds, memories of family movie nights and popcorn fights, tears and screams and laughter all in one day of life at the Delacroix home, by the sound of a light knock on the front door. All of the women simultaneously looked at one another and then to the door. It was actually happening.

Jamie was the one who moved towards it and looked through the peephole. Blake was standing back, partially turned towards the street behind him, most likely so he could keep an eye out. Oddly enough, there was a car behind him—one that Jamie had not seen on their street before.

Making quick work of the locks, Jamie came face to face with the detective and moved aside to let him in.

John Blake silently entered, his eyes on Jamie alone. "Ready?"

It was one word and Jamie saw her mother tense. She knew this was hard on her, on all of them. Jamie didn't know if they were ready—except for maybe Jaclyn who seemed more prepared than a navy seal—but as for her and her mother, they were as ready as they were going to get.

"Yeah. Blake this is my mom, Marie, and my little-big sister, Jaclyn." Jamie pointed to each and Blake's eyes followed. He nodded politely and offered them a friendly smile and warm eyes.

"We've met," Blake told her mother and Jamie felt her brows raise. They had? Blake extended his hand toward Marie, "But it's nice to officially meet you."

Marie took it and gave it a firm shake, her voice hard and withdrawn. "Maybe it would be nicer under different circumstances."

"_Mom_."

Jamie looked at her mother only partially shocked at her coldness. But Marie merely turned away and headed towards the kitchen. Jaclyn watched all of them carefully and when Blake, totally unfazed, turned to her and shook her hand as well, Jamie could have sworn that she saw her little-big sister blush.

Introductions complete and their lives about to be literally picked up and moved, Blake turned back to Jamie. "Since there's three of you, I brought the car."

"You have enough gas for that?" Jaclyn asked suddenly in surprise and then added incredulously, "And you still have a car?"

"It's only used in specific cases."

"Let me guess," Jamie droned, "emergencies?"

"Yeah," Blake nodded and then glanced at their suitcases. "Come on; let's get your stuff in the car. It's not a long drive, but the less time we spend out on the street is best."

Jamie and Jaclyn went to help him and followed the detective out the door. They were extra careful going down the icy steps of their front porch and Jamie found herself naturally searching for the mercenary woman. But Blake seemed only slightly in a hurry to get their things in the large trunk of the car, not overly paranoid.

"There's one more, right?" He asked and Jamie nodded pointing inside.

Blake jogged in quickly and when he returned with the last suitcase, he huffed as he lifted it into the trunk. "Thought I said to pack light."

Jamie rolled her eyes. "That is my mother's suitcase and that _is_ light for her."

"Will we be able to come back and get some more things?" Jaclyn piped up, bouncing on her toes in the cold air looking somewhat excited.

"I think so, but we'll give it a few days to calm things down. And I think I'll be sending some of my guys over instead of one of you, just to keep away suspicions."

Jaclyn nodded, as if she had been expecting that answer. She then wordlessly opened up the back door and climbed in. When it slammed shut, Jamie turned to the detective but he was already eyeing her from over the top of the car roof. Immediately Jamie thought of his hands on her hips, tugging her closer to him, the tingle of his lips touching the tender spot just below her ear and she looked to the ground hoping he didn't see it. Frowning heavily, Jamie needed to get those images out of her mind.

_It was just an act_, she thought. _Just an act, nothing more_.

She could feel his eyes on her still and Jamie knew the silence wouldn't last. So she ended it the only way she knew how.

"What happened," Jamie started and then swallowed heavily, "to the mercenary woman?"

"She's not here."

Jamie's eyes flashed to his, afraid. "Did you kill her?"

"No," Blake said right away. He didn't raise his voice, but Jamie could tell that the question had made him upset. He came around the other side of the car, his steps quick and his eyes pinning Jamie to her spot. "I didn't kill her. I made sure she won't be following us so I could get you and your family out safely. I don't need to kill people to do that, Jamie."

"Sorry… I just—"

"I know," Blake cut her off and then opened the passenger door of the car for her. "Why don't you get in the car, I'll go see if Marie is ready."

Jamie stayed where she was for a moment and it hit her then, how much this man that she honestly hardly knew was risking his life for them—for her. He did it willingly, too. He chose to take care of them, he brought them gasoline when the power started acting up, he made sure that she got home safely every time they went out, and now he was helping her family find a new place to live. Jamie didn't know what to do with all of that. Not many people she knew were that… good. Not in Gotham.

Brushing past him, Jamie climbed in the car. When she sat down fully, Blake had one arm resting on the car door and he watched her buckle herself in.

"Thank you." Jamie murmured as she clicked the seatbelt into place. She found it hard to smile at the moment, but she tried anyway and Blake seemed to understand.

"You're welcome. Sit tight."

The ride to their new home was mostly silent and not exactly because no one had anything to say. There was an unspoken tension as they were the only moving car out on the streets of the ghost-like Gotham. He drove them into the city, away from the family neighborhoods that Jamie was used to. Jamie's eyes watched her city fly past her, not in bright colors but in white and black and ultimately the overpowering gray.

Luckily, they didn't run into any tanks and Jamie could only sigh in relief when they finally pulled to a stop.

They each took a bag, Blake automatically taking the heaviest one, and he then led them into an apartment building. The place was on the fifth floor and Jamie wondered how and why he chose it for them. It was decent, sparsely decorated with a few plants and a bicycle resting against the far wall underneath a window. Jamie went over to it, her bandaged hand slid along the handlebars and then the seat.

"This was someone's home," she said more to herself than anything.

"Yeah," Blake's voice made her jump. He was leaning against the counter watching her explore the place. They were alone. Jamie hadn't heard her sister or mother leave to explore the other rooms. Blake's brown eyes held hers. "This was my place."

"… What?"

"It's my apartment."

"Blake," she stepped away from the bicycle, like touching it was a crime and shook her head. "We can't—"

"Can't what?" He asked challengingly. "Can't stay in a place where I know that you'll be safe?"

"No. We can't kick you out of your own home."

The detective waved that away easily. "Don't worry about it. I've been moving around apartments for the past few months with the Commissioner. Besides, I have a good security in this place and I feel better knowing you're here instead of somewhere we picked at random."

Jamie stared at the man unable to speak. She thought again of all that he had risked and now his _home_. Her hands returned to the bike and she wondered how often he rode it. It looked well cared for.

"Hey," Blake said suddenly and Jamie turned to him. He stepped away from the counter and Jamie stayed very still as he approached. She didn't understand the emotion in his eyes and closed her own when his hand touched her face. "Don't feel guilty about this. What is done is done and there is nothing we can do to change what happened, okay?"

Jamie's eyes slid open and she nodded in his hand whispering a soft, "Okay."

"Atta girl."

His hand fell away and Jamie grabbed it before it reached his side. "Thank you, John, for everything."

There was an abrupt smile on his face, big and wide and true. He squeezed her hand and then they slowly let go of each other. Blake stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket and glanced at the clock on the wall and his smile faded. Becoming serious once more, he turned to Jamie.

"Maybe you shouldn't thank me yet. Gordon wants to see you. He wants to ask some questions—the same questions I want to ask."

* * *

**AN:** Sorry for the longer wait than usual. Oh the joys of weddings and all the extended family coming into town! Anyway, yeah, this chapter was fun to write! Hopefully the next will be up soon. I am going to start working on it right away.

Thank you reviews and readers and all you people. You're great.

Until next chapter, toodles!

LIP


	11. Poor Unfortunate Soul

**_One Life_**** by TheNotoriousLIP **

* * *

_"Not every man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks."_ – Mary Wollstoncraft

**Chapter Ten: Poor Unfortunate Soul**

"You do this and your life will end."

"I know."

"You still wish to take her place?"

There was no hesitation, no moment of consideration; there was only the blinding instinct to protect what was hers. Steel slid through her veins; she was not afraid. "Yes."

Ebele did not look relieved. Left behind with two daughters after her husband died in a hunting accident, she had found her own way to pay for their food, schooling, clothes, and other necessities. Soon enough, Ebele and her striking beauty became the favorite of a man that was far more dangerous than any of them had realized. It was not long before he asked for Ebele's most precious possession.

Adenrele's mother, being a close friend of desperation, believed there was no choice but to give up her youngest daughter to Olumide, the current residing war lord of Sierra Leone's capital and well known diamond smuggler. For the chance to take Ebele's twelve year old daughter as his wife, Olumide had offered them more money than they ever knew one person could have—and protection from him and his rebel army. Both were invaluable.

Adenrele, however, knew there was always another way.

"Then you will have to work hard to please him," her mother told her seriously; Adenrele understood. "You were not the one he asked for."

"I know. I can do it."

Ebele did not thank her, would not have any parting words of comfort for her oldest daughter when she was taken to her new home—to her new master. Ebele would not even weep and neither would Adenrele. This was life in Africa; this was life in Sierra Leone and in the end… this was Adenrele's choice.

"Then it is done."

Adenrele felt something glide over her skin at those words and she thought it felt like the blade of a knife. She had only one request and she would never know if her mother honored it or not, she could only hope. "Do not tell Ngozi what I have done._ Do not let her know."_

* * *

She did not wake in gasping truth; there was no deep intake of breath as reality settled around Adenrele. There was just cold and pain and Gotham.

Her vision was blurry and one of her eyes would not open. There were three streams of blood flowing down her face matting into her thick hair and then dripping slowly onto the snow covered concrete she was sprawled out on. The pain was astounding, but Adenrele had been in pain before. That didn't make this hurt any less; it just gave her the ability to function through it.

There was a pool of blood in her mouth and with a stifled groan, Adenrele gingerly rolled over and pushed herself onto her hands and knees. As she did, blood and saliva poured out between her swollen lips making a startling dark red circle in the snow. More drops of blood, these ones brighter, splashed just above the darker circle. She didn't know if those ones came from her nose or from the split skin on her brow bone. She still couldn't see well, but she could see the blood. The color of blood always stood out to Adenrele—especially in the gray world of Gotham. It was like a signal flare in the dead of night; fiery, glowing and _alive_ in the depths of an abyss.

Adenrele blinked at the ground a few more times and her sight became more focused. That was when she saw the two by four lying next to her splattered with her own blood.

"Shit," Adenrele's tongue was thick and her voice gurgled as it all came back to her. "_Shit_."

_That damn detective_, Adenrele thought, wobbling onto unsteady feet. She still had her gun, all of her knives; even the grenade attached to her belt… there was nothing missing. He had left her alive and fully armed.

Adenrele thought that he should have killed her.

It would be better for him if he had killed her because now she had no choice to but to find him and kill him. It had been a long time since someone had gotten the best of her and Adenrele put half of that on the idea that he had the element of surprise. Though everyone would probably say she had been stupid in the first place and it was her mistake that she got her face smashed in. They would say that she deserved it.

Pressing a balancing hand on the building next to her, Adenrele closed her one good eye and breathed for a moment. It didn't help that when she breathed through either her nose or mouth the oxygen was riddled with droplets of blood making her gag and cough. She spit painfully again and again until her breath was clearer and the blood flow had slowed. Her head felt like the skin had been ripped off and aside from her nose, Adenrele wondered what else was broken—the pain was bone deep.

Knowing it would be better to get back to City Hall and let the residing doctor check her out and decide what was broken and what wasn't, Adenrele began the long trek back to their base. She stumbled most of the way and for once the cold air felt good as it assisted in numbing her pain.

By the time she made it back, it was late and most of her brothers and sisters were either out on patrol or asleep. Adenrele could not be more grateful to not have to face them like this. She already felt the burn of failure and it was not a feeling that she had ever enjoyed.

The door to the medic room was open but the light was off. Adenrele went straight for it. She knew Rami never really left the room; the doctor slept on one of the cots in case people were brought in at any hour of the day or night. Rami was a good man. Born in Pakistan, quiet and incredibly intelligent, he did his job well. It had been a while since Adenrele had been in need of his services.

Her steps were not as silent as they usually were and when she flicked on the light switch, Rami was already sitting up on the bed at the far end of the room. He glanced at her, squinting slightly in the sudden brightness and then rubbed his eyes and motioned for her to come to the cot next to him. Adenrele did so without question.

The doctor's face was handsome with surprising hazel eyes around his darker features. "I hope whoever did this looks worse than you."

"Not entirely," was Adenrele's clipped answer.

The doctor caught on quickly that she was not in the mood to talk and he went to work. It was not fun to have dried blood scrubbed off of her fresh wounds, or when Rami pressed on certain areas to test the pain level and feel for possible breaks. But Adenrele sat still and out of sheer force of will refused to make a single sound, even when the pain was nearly unbearable. As time passed, her whole face felt oddly puffy and she didn't want to know what she looked like. Thankfully Rami gave nothing away in his expressions. He had seen much in his time with Bane and nothing truly fazed him anymore.

He was inspecting the inside of her mouth, checking for lost or loose teeth, when Barsad appeared in the doorway. Adenrele only knew he was there because Rami's eyes flickered above her head once and then back down as he continued to inspect her teeth.

"What happened?" The lieutenant's quiet voice floated from somewhere to Adenrele's left. With her eye swollen shut, she couldn't see him but she knew from the sound of his voice that he was a mixture of amused and concerned.

_Glad I have the opportunity to be your entertainment tonight_, Adenrele thought wryly and then grimaced when Rami found a loose molar.

"A two by four," she answered around Rami's fingers, her words barely understandable and the pain had brought out her accent. But she knew Barsad would understand her. He always did. "I was taken by surprise."

"Was it the girl?"

Adenrele scoffed at the deep and growing amusement she heard from the man this time and when she did there was a little blood that came spitting out of her mouth and onto Rami's sleeve. The doctor raised one eyebrow and glanced down at the splatter looking most unimpressed. She would have grinned if it wouldn't have hurt so much.

Rami straightened and went over to the sink to wash his hands. Now that the doctor was done cleaning her up, she turned to Barsad. "It was the detective."

"Why did he not kill you?"

She shrugged. "Maybe he couldn't."

Barsad thought about that, his eyes half lidded and a smile playing about his lips. "The police have always been weak, but I didn't realize they were stupid as well."

He moved to the cot opposite of her and sat down sliding his sniper rifle to rest near his hip and he inspected her face thoroughly. He took in the split skin above her eye, her clearly broken nose, her already full lips swollen even more, and the smile began to fall from his face. She was in serious pain and he knew it. She would live and he knew that, too. They were both most likely thinking about what would happen when word of this reached… certain people.

"Do you wish he would have killed me?" Adenrele suddenly asked and it was only seconds after the question left her mouth that she realized she had slipped into Krio instead of English. One eye widened slightly and Barsad's smile returned with a vengeance. He showed all of his teeth as he grinned at her and answered back in her native tongue.

"No. Never."

It never ceased to impress her how good Barsad was with languages. He understood them in a way that not many people did. Barsad studied languages not in books but in the people who spoke them. That was why, she assumed, he studied her so much when he first brought her to Bane.

"It will be a while before you can see out of this eye," Barsad commented again in Krio. Adenrele eyed him and wondered if he was just teasing her or simply enjoyed the way the language felt on his tongue. Most likely both.

"Are you planning on pursuing a career as a doctor now, Barsad?" Humoring him, she played along. But she changed the rules and switched away from the common tongue to Mende, her tribe's more remote heart language. Barsad only spoke it moderately well and that bothered him. Adenrele knew the only reason why he wasn't fluent in it was because she preferred to speak Krio. Her father had spoken Mende when he was alive and the language belonged with him and her memory of him. When she and her mother and sister moved to Freetown, they stopped using it and stuck with the more widely known Krio.

Just as expected, Barsad frowned when the game became one that he would not win, at least not in that language. So he broke into Arabic and said something long winded and poetic sounding. It was unusual for him and he spoke so fast that Adenrele did not understand one word of it. Rami, however, snorted out a laugh and Adenrele turned towards him swiftly and then instantly decided to never move like that again when it felt like fluids sloshed in her head as she did so. She had all but forgotten about the doctor. Barsad's presence had that kind of effect on her.

Ending the game, Rami came back over and finished patching her up. Silently he stitched the open wound above her eye. It was painful, but everything was painful at this point and she kept her gaze solely on Barsad. He did not watch the doctor's hands as they pushed and pulled the needle through her skin, his eyes held hers and though they did not speak, it brought her more comfort than empty words ever would have.

After the stitching, Rami taped her nose and then handed her a bag of ice. "Lie down and keep this on your face until I return."

Doing as the doctor ordered, Adenrele watched him leave with sure steps and she wondered briefly where he was going. Rami hardly ever left their medical wing. Glancing at Barsad in question, her stomach rapidly began to drop.

"Bane will want to hear of this."

Ice pressed gingerly against her face, Adenrele tensed for one small moment and then it released and she sighed. She should have known. This was Barsad's way of telling her that he was going to inform Bane for her, because while she and Barsad were close… Bane was… Bane and Barsad was the most loyal of them all.

She would not stop him and she would not hold it against him. Adenrele and Barsad had always known who the other was.

"Barsad…" Adenrele began as a very different thought came to her mind, one she had been going over for a while now. She pressed the cold bag gingerly on her swollen eye and lost her breath at the sting. "What do you think he wants with her—the girl? She is nothing."

"She is important to the police and she is a nuisance," he shrugged lightly.

"How?"

"She has a habit of showing up where she does not belong."

Adenrele did not understand. "That hardly warrants his attention when we have the plan."

The mercenary across from her slowly raised his eyes to hers. "It is not his attention that she has."

There was a deafening silence between them and then it clicked like a lock slipping into place.

"Talia?"

Barsad did not answer her, but she knew she guessed right. Standing, he came over and if he were another man in another time, if they were anybody but who they were and anywhere but where they were, he would have reached out and touched the uninjured side of her face. Instead, Barsad shifted closer, his thighs pressing against her cot and his voice, back in Krio, became his caress. "Rest, Adenrele. Bane will be here soon."

She watched him leave and Adenrele wondered if he knew that the knowledge that Bane would be there soon did not bring her the same peace that it did for him.

* * *

Since her very first meeting with the Police Commissioner, Jamie had seen the man only one other time. It had been so exciting then because, well, he was Jim _freaking_ Gordon. He was a war hero, a man Gotham trusted and relied on to protect them… and somehow within these last few months Gordon looked as if he had aged ten years.

It was in his eyes.

Jamie had to hand it to the Commissioner, he was good with people and when she and Blake arrived at the small apartment he made her feel as comfortable as she could be in this situation—which wasn't much, but his effort was valiant. Blake had even offered her a cup of hot chocolate and Jamie nearly laughed out loud. It had been a long day; she was exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally. She had paid Miranda Tate a visit, found out that her father was a killer and that she was being followed by a mercenary, she and her entire family packed up their lives and moved not knowing if they would ever go back to their home again, and Jamie didn't even know what to call the episode between her and Blake at that house. Now, she was going to be interrogated. All in all, the hot chocolate was a nice idea but her stomach had been set to rot since she saw her father.

Instead of ignoring the elephant in the room any longer, Jamie asked if they could simply get on with business. Both men seemed more than willing to oblige.

"Miss Delacroix, you've made a bit of a splash today."

"I'm sorry," she answered right away eying the Commissioner sitting across from her. They were at a dining table and Gordon had become the human lie detector once again. Jamie wasn't sure if Blake was sitting next to her to offer her a sense of comfort or to keep her from running away.

"Don't apologize unless I know why you're doing it," Gordon told her seriously. "I need you to answer me honestly here, because some of us have put our lives at risk for you and I need to know that we're not doing that stupidly," all of them in that room knew exactly who Gordon was talking about and Jamie had to restrain herself from looking in Blake's direction. It was difficult, but not as difficult as keeping her gaze steady on the Commissioner. "Do you know why you were being followed today?"

"I honestly don't. Maybe it's just that… I was seen out on the street enough with Blake?"

"Not likely. There has to be something more. _Think_, Jamie. Is there anything you have done that could have drawn their attention?"

"I don't know."

"Have you given them any reason to notice you?"

"I said _I don't know_." Jamie was getting upset now, her voice raising and her already stressed nerves jumping underneath her skin.

Blake subtlety angled his body in her direction; his voice was gentler than Gordon's. "Maybe when you were getting the routes down for the trucks, do you think one of them noticed you then?"

"No," Jamie shook her head. She had been absolutely positive that no one saw her then. "Not possible."

"You mean not _probable_," Gordon corrected her and Jamie nearly rolled her eyes. "Everything is possible at this point."

"Have you had any altercations with any of the mercenaries?" Blake continued before she could say something she would regret.

"… Altercations?"

"Yeah," Blake nodded and inched towards her. "Or any moments when you had direct contact or interaction with them." The image of her father laughing as he carried an AK-47 and she hid in the shadows of the subway flashed through her mind.

Clenching her jaw and curling her fingers into a fist under the table, Jamie decided instantly that if she wasn't telling her mother or her sister about her father, then she was not telling anyone. It was one of those secrets best left buried. She might have told them if she honestly believed that her father was connected to this incident at all, but she did not. In fact, there was something else that was bothering her, something that stood out like blood in the snow… something that had happened and she had never told Blake about.

Jamie did have an altercation of sorts, but not with one of Bane's people.

"Jamie?" Blake's voice, kind and probing and not at all like his usual tone. Her eyes flashed to his and she knew instantly that he was using his cop voice on her, the one he told her he was good at, the one he was trained to use and damn it, it was working.

Running her tongue over her teeth under her lips, she tried to piece together the best way to tell them without this exploding. Jamie realized then just how stupid she had been to keep it from them for so long. But at the time she had been so afraid and so worried that if Blake knew he would never have accepted her help.

Knowing she should just spit it out, Jamie decided right then and there that sometimes it really sucked when things came back around to bite you in the ass.

She looked Blake directly in the eye because he deserved to know the truth. "I had direct contact with Bane."

The silence that erupted in the room screamed long and wailing and Jamie wanted to cover her ears as the pressure became too much in the small apartment they were in.

"You… what?" Gordon asked, his voice dangerously soft. "What do you mean you had _direct contact_ with _Bane_?"

Jamie was staring at the table now, unable to stand the look on John Blake's face, and kept staring there as she told them everything. She told them everything about the incident at the Courthouse—every detail she had left out before. She told them about counting the mercenaries and about Bane seeing her and not doing anything but stare at her. She told them how she was a coward and ran away and panicked. Blake stood up in a smooth rush at one point while she was speaking and started pacing.

"Why didn't you tell us before?" Gordon looked like he aged another five years right in front of her as he slumped down in his seat.

"I don't know," Jamie said helplessly. She had no other answers for them except that she had been afraid. Very, very afraid. "I didn't think he would really—"

"Mark you?" Blake cut her off harshly and now Jamie flinched when she heard the full brunt of his anger. The words hit her as well, she had used that same language to describe her father but she was _not_ her father. Not in the least. She was not a murderer, she did not abandon her family, she was not a bad person… she just made a really stupid decision and she had no idea the consequences that would come from it.

But she was about to find out.

"You've endangered the lives of your family and my men," the Police Commissioner drew her back to him and Jamie had never seen the wrinkles on his forehead so severe. He did not seem as upset as Blake, he seemed more tired and sad than anything else—like he was carrying a load he did not want to carry. Jamie felt the weight of it when Gordon's eyes settled on hers and a deep dread began to build in her mind. "I hope you understand that as the Police Commissioner it is my responsibility to keep my men safe and protect them. We must assume now that if you are seen with one of my men that it will make them a target as well. I can't have that. We'll still make sure you are safe—"

Jamie's eyes widened and she felt her heart drop out of her chest and down to her toes. Her breath caught in her throat, she knew what was coming, and she croaked, "Commissioner—"

"But from now on… you are on your own."

The dark haired detective stopped his angry pacing and went very still when Gordon finished. Jamie wanted to badly to turn and look at him, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Her stomach rolled and wrenched worse than it had all day and Jamie thought she was going to be sick. How did it come to this? Everything was ruined; all that she had tried to do to help was going to be flushed down the drain—useless. Jamie was so confused; it wasn't supposed to turn out like this, at all.

A fog settled over her mind. She understood Gordon's words but they were not fully registering. "I'm on my own."

Gordon did not hesitate. "Yes."

"… So what am I supposed to do now?"

"Stay hidden, stay safe, stay alive," Jamie scoffed at that and Gordon continued ruthlessly. "You'll just have to wait this out."

"And do nothing?"

"Except stay hidden, stay safe, and stay alive."

Jamie felt her own anger flare then, like a spark catching onto a pile of wood that had long been doused with gasoline but never really lit. It ignited instantly and blindly; the fire came through her voice and Jamie felt it burn in her finger tips. "And what if Gotham decides not to 'wait it out'?"

"We'll answer that if it comes to it."

"_When_," Jamie bit out and it was acidic. The Commissioner raised his eyebrows. She felt like laughing suddenly, though nothing was very funny; he—and everyone else it seemed like—still did not understand that this city was not going to sit back quietly forever. It couldn't. Didn't they see it out on the streets? Didn't they feel it? There had been a time not long ago that Jamie was scared Gotham would just lay down and die, but that was long past and the entire city was changing, contorting. She could hear the ticking away of Gotham as it deteriorated just like the bomb. Every day it drew closer to exploding. "_When_ it comes to it."

They let that hang in the air and when Gordon did not have an answer right away; Jamie realized then that maybe… maybe working with the cops wasn't the only way to do something for Gotham. Of course, she wasn't going to be taking a machine gun to the streets and become the very thing she was trying to fight, but it was not over yet. There were always other ways and God had a plan. He wouldn't bring her out here just to die. He told her He had something for her to do and Jamie was pretty sure that she had not done it yet.

"—hard for you," she looked up realizing that the Commissioner was speaking to her. His words were heavy but they did not settle on her shoulder. They only slid off of her and if Jamie listened closely enough, she could hear them shatter as they hit the ground. "Like I said before, you have a good heart."

"That's a nice sentiment," Jamie said, her voice light and breezy. She could feel Blake's eyes on her and Jamie ignored them as she stood from the table officially done with this meeting. "But I think I'm figuring out that a good heart doesn't get you very far in Gotham. Not when there are mercenaries and bombs on the throne of this city. Good luck, Commissioner. I still believe it was an honor meeting you."

Jamie turned then, leaving the two men and as she reached the door she heard Gordon one last time. "It gets you more than you think."

* * *

She wasn't sure why it surprised her. She had known he was coming.

Adenrele's one good eye slid open and she saw nothing but shadow and darkness. The mechanical hiss was her only clue as to where exactly the man was and when she pinpointed his location, he was much closer than she had been prepared for. She felt him more than saw him, though the massive outlining of his body was becoming more and more visible as the seconds passed.

And at that moment, laying there near helpless in that cot, it hit her like a brick.

Bane frightened her.

Adenrele wasn't sure when it changed or what caused it. There was once a time in her life when she felt as Barsad did, but now, this fear was like a revelation that had been long overdue. Bane frightened her in the worst way. It was an odd feeling for a woman who was not used to fear, but it was true.

"That looks painful," Bane's voice was light as if he were commenting on the weather and Adenrele felt every muscle in her body tense like a rubber band being pulled back too far.

"That's because it is." She didn't know if he could actually see in the dark. Ridiculous rumors like that were often spread about their masked leader, but she did wonder how he knew what shape she was in right now. Maybe he had been in here for a while, long enough for his eyes to adjust to the stark darkness.

Or maybe people were right and he could see in the darkness because he _was_ the darkness.

Maybe his eyes were permanently adjusted to a lack of sunlight from living so many years in hell.

"Care to share what happened?"

Adenrele searched him out with her one open eye. "I was following the detective—"

"You were instructed to follow the girl."

He sounded friendly, kind even, and Adenrele didn't trust it one bit. Her instincts and lack of sight were screaming _danger_ at her. "Yes," she said slowly, carefully. "But she went inside her house and he was… behaving oddly. I followed but he must have known."

"And he did not kill you," Bane finished the story for her, plain and simple, and there was something in the way he said it that had Adenrele's eye glued to what she could see of Bane and her hand inching towards her right foot. "He offers you mercy, a second chance at life," Bane paused and that was when she felt it. The atmosphere shifted rapidly, like the eye of a hurricane passing over and the wall of the storm about to break. "I will not be so kind."

The rubber band snapped and cracked inside of her skin and Adenrele became like lightning. She ignored all of the pain and dizziness; there was not time for pain as she moved. She could not truly see the masked mercenary, but she did not need to. All that she needed was strapped to her right ankle—a steel friend, old, trusted and familiar. Her fingers gripped the black handle of the curved blade and she turned towards the shadowy mass of Bane, ready for a fight.

She made no noise, her training taught her to stay silent. Stealth had kept her alive more often than not… but then again, this was Bane.

Adenrele paused at that thought… wait, this was _Bane_. Why was she not already dead?

The moment she moved he would have already killed her, but here she was, still breathing and clutching a knife—her favored and most deadly accurate weapon. Confused, Adenrele loosened her grip knowing instinctively that her death at the moment was not his intention, despite his words.

Instead of her execution, there was laughter; deep, humiliating, and inhuman as it filtered through the mask.

"When I first found you, you were desperate for life and it seems as though that has not changed… But you think that knife will save you again, Adenrele?" Bane mocked her and Adenrele felt her blood turn to ice. The hulking mass shifted closer and she saw then the ghostly glow of his pale face directly in front of her own. He tilted his head, his mask looking more menacing in the darkness. "You think that knife will save you from me, like it did from your husband? But I am not Olumide."

_No_, Adenrele thought, _you are not. You are worse._

"And so unlike him, I will not kill you yet." She kept utterly still on her cot as he spoke, like an animal would do in the presence of a deadly predator.

Funny, at one point in her life, Adenrele had been the predator.

Bane's hand materialized out of the darkness and grasped her forearm in an inescapable grip before she could even flinch. His rough and callused palm slid down to the black handle and he pried it away from her claw-like fingers and for the first time since she moved, Adenrele made a noise.

"_No_."

The masked man paused and then once he had the knife, he held the tip of her own weapon against her broken nose. He pressed lightly, but enough for the skin to break and a spot of blood to appear. Adenrele clenched her jaw and fists fighting the urge to leap at the man to get her knife back—it was _hers_. But Bane knew what he was doing. If he took that, he took her security and Adenrele finally understood what was going on. Bane planned to take everything from her before he took her life.

"Rest," Bane told her jovially and drew away the knife. His hand, heavy for more than one reason, came to rest on her head. "Heal. You will need to be well for what is coming."

His steps, purposeful in their sound, moved towards the door. She felt her world start to sink deeper and she began to breathe in water and drown. Why she spoke next, Adenrele would question for hours afterwards.

"What about the girl?"

The steps paused and then there was the soft rasp of finality, "That job is done."

* * *

"Hey, if you're listening right now… I could really use some help. I'm trying to do the right thing, but I don't know if I am. Things feel like they've fallen apart but I know that you have a plan for all of this; I know you haven't abandoned Gotham. Otherwise why would you still be talking to me… I mean, you _are_ still talking to me, right? Listen, I'll do whatever you ask; even if I'm afraid. All I'm asking for is a little assistance in the meantime."

Jamie wasn't sure what she was expecting to hear from God in response but _tick, tick, tick, tick, tick_, was not it.

Groaning, she fell back onto the bed—John Blake's bed in John Blake's apartment mind you—with a soft _thump_. She didn't know what to do with that answer. Jamie knew there was no way she could force God to talk, but He had once told her that He spoke to her because she listened. Well, she was all ears now, but it seemed like the only thing she could hear was the sound of the clock, the countdown, the _tick, tick, tick_ that steadily grew in volume.

It was infuriating, really. Jamie fully understood that there was only so much time left. That was one thing she did not need to be reminded of. Even covering her ears, she still heard it. Tick… tick… tick—Jamie abruptly wondered if she was going crazy like that lady in _Catching Fire_ that ran around saying, "Tick, tock. This is a clock."

A giggle bubbled up in her chest as the thought passed through her mind and then the words passed through her lips and the next thing she knew she was rolling onto her side, legs curling into her stomach and laughing hysterically. The thought was so funny and at the same time so _not_ funny that she couldn't stop. Maybe she really was losing it. Wouldn't that make the Commissioner happy now? Jamie giggled some more.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick—_beep_—tick—_beep, beep_—tick.

Jamie's laughter died down and her brows furrowed seriously. That was new.

Sitting up, Jamie turned to the nightstand—John Blake's nightstand in John Blake's bedroom—and saw the face of her red wristwatch flashing in time with the beeps. Not understanding why her alarm was going off, Jamie frowned and picked it up. It continued until she pressed a button on the side of it and switched off the sound. Silence settled over the room and for the first time since she had come in here, the ticking stopped as well.

Odd.

Jamie held the watch in her hand and stared at it for a long moment. What day was it? Going over dates in her head, Jamie counted three days since her disastrous meeting with Blake and Commissioner Gordon. Three days.

Three days, a gentle and accented voice echoed in her mind.

_"Meet me here in three days at noon. I will take you to see the building in which the reactor is held."_

Flying out of the bed, Jamie rushed to her suitcase that was pushed up against the wall and began digging for her clothes in an absolute panic. How in the _world_ could she have forgotten about her meeting with Miranda Tate?

Peeling off her pajamas and strewing them about the room, Jamie grabbed a pair of leggings and tugged them on and then her jeans over those. Choosing a thin white long sleeve shirt, then a second green one to go over that, a sweater, and then her coat hanging in the closet, Jamie was out of breath when she was done. She glanced in the mirror, tried to press down on one piece of hair that stood straight up. When it refused to obey, Jamie grabbed her beanie on the dresser and put that on as well.

Glancing around the room, the nineteen year old still thought that it was weird that she was in Blake's apartment, sleeping in his bed and using his bathroom and his shower. Most of the time she had to shove the thought out of her mind completely just so she wouldn't blush. She supposed it could be worse… he could be staying here with them.

_Nope_, Jamie thought, _not even going there._

Opening up the bedroom door, the quiet voices of Jaclyn and her mother trickled down the hallway. When Jamie made it to the kitchen, Marie stopped mid swipe as she spread peanut butter over a piece of wheat bread. Her sharp eyes took in Jamie's clothes and then she turned back to the bread and peanut butter with pursed lips. Jamie sighed. They hadn't been speaking much since they had moved into Blake's apartment. In some ways, it made life easier. Jamie didn't have to go through the long explanation of why Jim Gordon had pretty much kicked her off of the team, in fact, she didn't have to tell her mother about that at all.

Jamie might have felt guilty for keeping it secret but she knew that would have caused another fight and these days she had many other more important things to focus on.

"Where are you going?"

Jaclyn was eyeing Jamie curiously. Jamie grabbed her boots by the door and nodded towards it. "Out." Marie slapped the top of the peanut butter jar back on a little rougher than needed and both girls glanced her way. When Marie said nothing, Jamie continued putting on her boots pulling them up over her small calves. "I'll be back for dinner."

"Can I come?"

"_No_," their mother finally broke her vow of silence and she glared at Jaclyn pointing the peanut buttered knife fiercely at her. "You will stay here with me."

Jamie bit her tongue. There wasn't much she could say that hadn't already been said between the two of them. It was well known among them that Marie was not fond of Jamie's 'gift' or her insistence of actually using it, and that was _before_ Bane had taken over Gotham. Now, it—or more like anything related to the memory of their family, father included, attending church regularly—was a sore spot for Marie Delacroix.

After her father had left them, Marie had stopped attending church altogether. She told Jamie she didn't want the pity from people who knew them but Jamie wondered if she was just angry at God. Though Jaclyn stayed home with their mother, Jamie continued going by herself. Her faith wasn't the strongest, she definitely wasn't the most knowledgeable person about the Bible, but she took comfort there among other everyday people who wanted to do the right thing but still struggled with doing the right thing.

It made her feel normal in a world where she had been labeled so clearly abnormal.

"Sorry, sis," Jamie said quietly as Jaclyn came over and handed her a sandwich they had made. Jamie took it gratefully and stood. "Be good, okay?"

"You, too." Jaclyn told her seriously and Jamie grinned a little.

"I will," Jamie looked behind Jaclyn towards their mother. "See you later… lock the door?" Marie stayed behind the counter but she nodded and at the warning beep of her watch, Jamie hurried and left.

Stuffing half of the sandwich in her mouth, her feet flew down the stairwell to the bottom floor and she found herself thinking about the handsome detective in an attempt to push her mother's disappointment from her mind. She hadn't seen him since the meeting with Gordon, though there had been a note slipped under the door the morning after. Jamie had been lucky that she had hardly slept that night and was up early to see it first.

Blake had not been happy with her, but from the note she gathered that he was even less happy with the Commissioner. Though he respected his superior, Blake informed Jamie of how to reach him and that orders be damned, he still believed her and if she heard anything, saw anything, felt anything—_anything at all_, to let him know. She had been right too many times for them to ignore it. He ended the note letting her know that he would be keeping an eye on the apartment and that she was not alone.

Jamie couldn't help the smile that spread across her face when she read those last four words: she was not alone.

Snow was falling in thick white sheets and Jamie got blasted by it the moment she stepped into the open. They were beyond lucky that the electricity, though not entirely reliable, was still mostly working. Snow landed on her lashes and Jamie brushed them away from her eyes and angled her head towards the ground as she quickened her pace towards Wayne Tower.

One good thing about moving into Blake's apartment was that the walk was not nearly as long as it would have been had Jamie come from her house. Still, she hoped she wasn't too late and that Miranda would stay true to her word. Today would be important, Jamie could feel it.

It was like God was having her put together a humongous jigsaw puzzle one piece at a time—and this was one of those really important pieces, like a corner piece. Jamie had no clue what the ultimate picture would look like, but if she could get the pieces to the right people then that was all that really mattered. If she could get the information to Blake, that was all that really mattered. He was still in—even if the Commissioner was not.

Grinning harshly against the wind and snow, Jamie decided that whether or not this turned out to be a good idea, she would make it one. Blake might tell her that this is one of those crazy ideas, like the Courthouse, but Jamie didn't believe that. Miranda Tate was going with her and that had to count for something. And when Jamie saw Miranda waiting for her outside of Wayne Tower, she let out a sigh of relief.

"You made it," Jamie grinned at the older woman as Miranda greeted her in that gentle voice of hers. "I was afraid that you were not going to come."

She wore a heavy, long black coat and a loose scarf around her neck looking entirely like the standing CEO of Wayne Enterprises. In all other situations, she might have intimidated Jamie, but she knew this woman to be nothing but kind.

"Sorry I'm late," Jamie came up beside her and grinned sheepishly. Miranda waved her apology away.

"Do not fret, we still have some time."

Jamie didn't question Miranda when she began to lead them away from the Tower. She followed and when they turned their backs to the onslaught of snow and Jamie couldn't be more grateful. Despite her socks and boots, the cold was starting to seep into her feet and Jamie stomped them a little as she walked. "How far is it?"

"About two and a half miles or so," Miranda answered easily and Jamie nodded and stuffed her hands deeper into her coat pockets preparing herself for the trek. "How are your hands?"

Raising her eyebrows in surprise, Jamie pulled her them out of her pockets and turned them palm up. "They're good, finally." There were still ridged red marks on her palms and Jamie figured with enough time the marks would fade. "No more bandages, see?"

Miranda took one hand, her cold fingers running over the healed rope burn like a pianist and Jamie had to stop from grinning at the older woman's near obsession with Jamie's injury. Jamie wasn't sure she thought about her hands as much as Miranda Tate did. But then she felt those cold fingers move lower and they reached the new half crescent shaped scabs below the old rope burn. Miranda turned to Jamie like a scolding mother and tapped the scabs with her forefinger. "Where did these come from?"

"Rough week." Jamie closed her hand into a fist and hid them from sight as the memory of her nails cutting into her palm in the subway flew through her mind. Miranda gave her a questioning look and then sharply steered them right. Jamie shrugged silently, not wanting to share any more information than she absolutely needed to.

"I see," Miranda's tone was soft but clipped and Jamie thought she might have offended her. "Perhaps today will make it better."

"I'm counting on it."

"So am I."

* * *

The problem with being a girl who heard the audible voice of God was that sometimes Jamie relied too heavily on it. For all that she was in tune with the Divine; for all that she trusted God to protect her… she was notorious for not using her common sense.

Maybe if she had, none of this would have happened.

The two and a half mile walk had gone on much longer than Jamie had expected and the soles of her feet were starting to pulse with pain every time her foot hit the ground. Thankfully, Miranda had kept conversation light and interesting, inquiring about Jamie's life, her family, her home, her childhood growing up. Wayne Enterprises acting CEO seemed particularly fascinated by her family's holiday traditions, even though much of it was childish. Like how she and Jaclyn still stay up all night on Christmas Eve and sneak downstairs to inspect the presents under the tree and the stockings by the fireplace before jumping on their mother's bed and waking her up with an obnoxiously loud rendition of "O Christmas Tree"… Jamie even told her how "O Christmas Tree," seemed to be the only words they knew in the whole song but they sang it at the top of their lungs anyway.

Miranda laughed and maybe it was of all the Christmas talk, but Jamie thought her laugh sounded like silver bells. The conversation helped distract her from the increasingly long walk and Jamie kept her thoughts private when she wondered if Miranda's sense of distance was like her mother's idea of packing light—ridiculous.

Still following her lead, Jamie sniffed as her nose began to run from being out in the cold for so long. Miranda seemed mostly unaffected by the temperature and Jamie wondered how she could stand it.

"I have lived in much colder places."

Jolted, Jamie turned to Miranda and she was smiling knowingly at the younger girl. Jamie tried to remember if she had actually said anything out loud. She didn't think she had. Maybe she was just that easy to read.

"Where have you lived that's colder than this? Siberia?" Jamie quipped and Miranda slanted a look at her.

"You would be surprised."

Rolling her eyes, Jamie was starting to realize how cryptic most of Miranda's answers were when it came to personal questions. She didn't know if the woman was like that on purpose or simply did it without realizing. Choosing to find out, Jamie ventured a question similar to her previous one. "Where were you born—if you don't mind me asking?"

"I was born in a place that I hope you never see." Whatever smile had been on Miranda's lips dropped in an instant and Jamie immediately regretted asking anything at all.

Suddenly Miranda stopped in front of one of the city's large and fancy hotels—Jamie noted it was one owned by Bruce Wayne. Of course they would stop here. Jamie rocked onto her toes and back onto her heels realizing that her feet felt absolutely numb as she did so. In fact, now that they had finally stopped, exhaustion settled into her muscles and Jamie tried not to show it but Miranda was observant as always.

"Why don't we go inside and warm up a bit?" She asked with a bit of a smile and Jamie followed her lead.

They pushed their way through the spinning door of the five star hotel leaving a trail of snow and ice behind them. The first thing that registered for Jamie was the heat, almost painful, as it prickled like a thousand tiny needles on the skin of her face. Her cheeks were raw from the cold and she closed her eyes as she began to slowly defrost.

Opening them a minute later, Jamie looked up and around admiring the white and black marbled floors and pillars with gold trimmings. The place was pristine and screamed money and Jamie wondered why it was so empty. She would have thought that a place like this would have been ransacked again and again, but it was mostly intact. Nothing, from the leather couches to the greenery plants and running fountain, seemed like it had been even touched.

Jamie's eyes continued to wander as she asked, "How much further is it?"

"Not far."

Snorting unbelievingly before she could stop herself, Jamie covered her mouth and looked to Miranda in embarrassment. "Sorry," she winced. "I… just… yeah. I'm sorry."

She half expected Miranda's typical genial smile to be in place but it was nowhere to be found. Instead, Miranda was staring at her, considering her and then she dipped her chin demurely and the smile was back though it did not entirely reach her eyes. "I have been thinking about our conversation over these last few days," she stepped closer and her eyes were darker than Jamie remembered them ever being. "You said that you would kill Bane if you had the chance, am I correct?"

Jamie's brows pinched together in confusion and she carefully answered, "If it would stop the bomb from going off… then yes. I think anyone in this city would."

"Thank you," Miranda's smile widened and it was anything but joyful. Something inside of Jamie shifted then and she felt genuine fear, though she did not entirely know why. Naturally, she stepped away from the woman, back towards the door, but a gush of cold air swooshed in at that same moment and Jamie whipped around only to come face to face with a mercenary.

"Hello," he said pleasantly and grinned at her. It was vacant and dead beneath his hooded eyes and Jamie panicked. Her eyes widened in shocked horror. She didn't think at all, she just moved.

Adrenaline burst through her veins like a tidal wave taking over her entire body. There was only one exit and gun or not, she was going to get out. Jamie made a run for the door but the man was prepared for that and he moved with her blocking her exit. Jamie hesitated, moving this way and that, and the mercenary seemed like he was just playing a game with her. Until she decided to twist at the last moment knowing there was nothing she could use to her advantage against a trained killer except possibly her size. Jamie quickly ducked under and out of his reach. She was small and fast and that was about all that she had on her side.

It got her three precious feet of freedom and one small moment of terrible hope before the game was over and a hand grasped her neck and snapped her around, throwing her to the ground.

Stars exploded behind her eyes as her head connected sharply against the marbled floor she had been admiring earlier with a loud and resounding _thwack_. Jamie groaned, absolutely dazed. And then, they were everywhere, mercenaries with their guns and their army attire, watching her. Where had they come from and how they had arrived so quickly, she did not know. Jamie was frozen in shock and a ridiculous amount of pain as she lay there on the hard ground. That was when they began to move in.

As they drew closer, unable and unwilling to go down in such a humiliating way without at least a little more of a fight, Jamie burst into motion. She rolled over, kicking and shrieking like a wildcat, catching a few of them in the stomach and one in the crotch as they grabbed at her. Jamie didn't even stop to wonder why they weren't simply shooting her yet. She forgot everything and resorted to the most primal human instinct—survival.

She rolled onto her hands and knees and then was on her feet when rough hands grabbed her back, grasping her throat, her hair—somebody wrenched her head back, and tears leapt to the corner of her eyes—Jamie couldn't _see_, couldn't feel—and then they had her arms pinned behind her back and she couldn't move. It frightened her so badly that she thought she might very possibly lose her mind.

Jamie had always joked about being crazy because she heard voices, but that was nothing compared to the sheer madness of her need to _stay alive_.

Surely, they were going to kill her. Maybe they hadn't shot her, but that just meant her death would be slower and she had heard so many screams from women in this city who had died in so many worse ways. Jamie did not want to be one of them, was terrified that she would be. An insane fervor seized Jamie and before it even registered as a thought she was scratching, struggling, trying to get enough leverage to lean back and kick to man with the vacant smile in front of her. She couldn't think straight, couldn't form a single coherent thought except that she could not fail, not this time when the stakes were the highest. She clawed at the face of the men around her, leaping forward against their hold, "GET AWAY FROM ME!"

Then a flash to her right, and a pale hand was in her vision, delivering a sharp crack across her cheek.

Jamie fell silent as she stared into the dark, fathomless eyes of Miranda Tate. "Be quiet," the words were hard and biting while the voice was gentle and elegantly terrifying.

Jamie went limp, would have fallen to the ground if not for the mercenary holding her under her arms, keeping her upright. Her eyes took in all that was happening, the mercenaries filling the hotel lobby, Miranda Tate dressed like Miranda Tate but looking very much not like Miranda Tate. Jamie stared at this stranger before her in an absolute stupor and wondered who the hell she was. This was not the woman she knew.

This was not Miranda Tate. This was someone else entirely.

A movement, a mercenary shifting just the slightest, brought some light back into Jamie's eyes and she turned them back to Miranda.

"Why?" She asked.

Miranda ignored her, turning to the mercenary with the vacant smile, the one who seemed like he was not all there. "Barsad, take her to the room prepared. Bane will be here soon."

The man nodded, saying nothing, and yanked Jamie up by her arms. She felt him begin to wrap a rope tightly around her wrists and Jamie would have struggled—a distant part of her mind told her to fight, that her mother needed her, Jaclyn needed her, Blake needed her, but there was a serious miscommunication between her mind and her body. Jamie stayed still and compliant. She had so many questions and yet she couldn't even articulate a thought.

Confusion, pain, exhaustion and fear all battled for the forefront of her mind. _What just happened?_

Then they pushed her forward and Jamie tripped, unprepared for the sudden movement. She would have face planted on the tile once more, but the mercenary—_Barsad_—caught her before she could fall.

"Careful," he said and Jamie wished someone would have told her that much sooner.

* * *

**AN:** And… here… we… _GO! TA-DA!_I present the longest chapter yet. For all of the slow paced stuff I've had in this story so far, we have officially crossed over into the more exciting, action-y stuff. _THANK GOD._ So buckle your seat belts ladies and gentlemen and please keep your arms and legs in the vehicle; the ride is about to begin.

Welcome to the second arc (I still am giggling over that pun… _Oh, Joan_…). **_ALSO_**. I am also going out of town soon for about two weeks so I hope I make up for the lack of updates with this extra long chapter. I mean, isn't that just a _fun_ place to leave you all at? I think so ;)

Thanks to all who read this and also to those who read this and review. Glad to share this story with you so it won't just rot and stay in my head!

Until next chapter, toodles!

LIP


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